Inktober 2019
by NullNoMore
Summary: The plan: a very short story a day, written in ink first. (Ball point counts, right?) Some stand alones, lots of OCs. We'll have alien fight club, we'll have brain jacking, we'll have the day everyone turned into a Nopon. Starting with 16, a continuing story of Doug, Frye, Sharon, and Sal the OC vs Trueno. All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, happy 20th anniversary.
1. 1 Ring

**Inktober 2019 1. Ring  
**

**a/n: The plan: a story a day, all short, all written in ink first, pictures on request. Lots of OCs (it is OCtober, right? Right?). Canon characters will show up eventually.**

**Several OCs participate in exercise and fellowship.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, do not blame them for most of this.**

* * *

"Stop! Stop!" the delicate pink alien pleaded as she crouched at the edge of the canvas. Her voice squeaked with a touch of fear.

"Do you concede the fight?" asked the referee, a different alien, blue and richly tentacled. She had stepped between the fighters, towering over both of them.

"Ha ha, if you put it that way ... I suppose I must." Her confidence had returned as soon as her opponent, similarly small and delicate but an unattractive grey, had retreated.

"Then the fight concludes. The win goes to Twyleth," intoned the gravel-voiced announcer.

The pink Ma-non struggled to her feet and tugged awkwardly at her headgear. She had already spat her mouthguard onto the ring mat. "Ah ha ha, not that I should be surprised by this, you know? Your work as a menial gives you such an advantage, right?"

The other Ma-non stood as solidly as their spindly kind was likely ever to manage. "Polly, you suggested this match."

"I did. I wanted to see how coarse you'd grown, working at the refueling station. But I admit, I didn't expect you to to to demonstrate it so directly, ha ha. You've clearly grown into your new job, amongst barbarians, so to speak, right?" She left off the attempt to remove the padded leather straps surrounding her narrow head and squishing down her floppy ears. The boxing gloves encasing her tiny fists thwarted any finer motor skills. "Or maybe your talents always ran that way, don't you agree?"

"Polly," pleaded the other Ma-non. She reached out to the other woman. In contrast, her boxing gloves did not hide the reconciliation she was offering.

"It's Pollite, please. Yes, please use my proper name, Twy-twy. If you'll excuse me." She whirled tightly on the spot and leapt over the ropes of the boxing ring. She pattered past the other boxers towards the locker room. They were of a variety of species, occupied in many different routines, the only unifying quality being that they were all women. That and their dedication to their practice time. Not many people had paused to watch the first official match between Ma-non ever seen on Mira. Possibly the first match in the universe.

"Twy-twy?" queried one of the small audience, a short and solid human who now climbed nimbly into the ring to join Twyleth. Her voice held humor that hid disgust. She bent to pick up the discarded mouthguard and winged it expertly into a nearby bucket. She started to help Twyleth out of her safety gear.

"I hate that nickname so so so much, okay?" said Twyleth wildly. "I hate it! I hate it! I hate..."

"...her?" Lila finished. Twyleth fell silent and started squeezing and tugging her long snout. Lila captured one hand, then the other, and removed the gloves.

The referee had joined them and was briskly toweling Twyleth off. "You did not fight with hatred. You fought with skill and concentration. You respected the arena. The other one did not even show closing courtesy." The buxom Prone tapped the discarded gloves together in demonstration.

"Personally, that speech sounded canned to me," said Lila wryly. "I bet she practiced it in front of the mirror." When Twyleth didn't even smile, only tugged her nose one more time, Lila sighed and offered another suggestion. "Come on, let's go get some pizza to celebrate your victory."

"I can't!" Twyleth squealed. "I can't go into the changing room while she's still there!"

Lila lifted a careless shoulder. "So we go in our sweats. You'll come too, right?" She shot a glare at the Prone.

The Prone nodded her fringed head. "I will inform my mate that I will be delayed. He will enjoy attending the children for a while longer."

"But we're so stinky!" exclaimed Twyleth.

"We're menacing," corrected Lila. "Plus, if they see us together toasting you, they'll think you beat up a Prone."

"Or a human," suggested the Prone.

"Or that. Maybe."

Twyleth drooped from her ears to her toes. "People will know the truth. It wasn't like the fight was hidden, okay?"

"Silly Twy-twy. The first rule of Ladies Night at the Miran Boxing Academy is: you to not talk about Ladies Night at the Miran Boxing Academy."

* * *

**a/n: It could have been about the rings of Oblivia. It could have been a Prone marriage ring (yes, I know how to make one). It could have been about whatever goes on with mim eyes. Instead, it was this. ****Miran Boxing Academy seen in The Lily and the BLADE/11/One Punch KO. I don't know the name of the Prone, unless it's Miss Duna Valdileo. Except she has no children. Yet.  
**

**Next up: Mindless. It's gonna be brainjacking, isn't it?  
**


	2. 2 Mindless

**Inktober 2019 2 Mindless**

**a/n: H.B. is on yet another gathering mission. So beneath him. At least he gets to team with Dougie.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and H.B. is proof that their DLC is chef's kiss.**

* * *

"You doing okay there, H.B.?" Doug asked.

The Pathfinder looked up from the careful weapons inspection he did prior to beginning yet another day's mission. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

Doug scratched his close-cropped head thoughtfully. "Something seems off."

"Surely you don't think I'm an alien mimic?" H.B. asked dryly. Over the course of a weeks long assignment, H.B. had started to enjoy bantering his more solid teammate. It was one of the few things he still enjoyed about this most tedious of all possible gathering missions.

Doug laughed. "No, no, you're too perfect to be a copy. It's just I noticed how you've been acting on the way here."

"I have been my normal polite self."

"I was thinking more about the way you've approached enemies."

H.B. stifled the urge to preen. Even though it was natural for other BLADEs to observe his fighting prowess, it was still flattering to think that the distinguished Harrier had been checking out H.B.'s moves. "We didn't encounter any major challenges on our route," he said modestly.

"True. Maybe that's why you seemed so ... I don't know ..."

H.B. waited for Doug's admiring description.

".. meh? Blah? Dull?"

Weapons forgotten, H.B. stood up stiffly. "Excuse me, but we dealt with that simian pack extremely efficiently. And that cinicula. We even harvested a requested carapace on the side."

"Sure, sure." Doug's voice grew even more calm and soothing. "I'm not saying it was bad, exactly. Just ... how do I put it ... kind of same old, same old."

"I do not follow you," H.B. said tightly.

Doug picked up H.B.'s shield and hefted it experimentally. "You used the same moves, in the same order, both those times." He clumsily mimicked a taunt with the shield, followed by aiming an invisible ranged weapon, presumably a version of H.B.'s assault rifle.

"Using tested methods doesn't deserve criticism."

Doug repeated the pantomime, then again. "You used the exact same pattern on the saltat. And the terebra. Come on, man, you can't tell me those low level puppies needed that grocery list of fire power."

"I take no chances." H.B. reached for his shield. Doug ignored him, now holding the shield firmly at chin level, inclined just a fraction toward H.B. His feet were placed solidly in the sand. H.B. was impressed by how menacing Doug suddenly looked.

"You weren't paying attention," Doug stated. "You were following your list mindlessly and that's going to get you into trouble."

"So what do you suggest?" countered H.B. "Would you have me stop and re-examine every single enemy, including ones that I've fought repeatedly? Including the ones we've faced every single day this week, traveling both to and from this exact spot?"

"I agree, this mission's dragging on, but that's no excuse to get stale."

"I hardly call consistency stale."

"Exact same attacks? Every time? Every enemy? You're gonna get caught flat-footed if something new pops up."

H.B. shook his head in surprise. "Aren't you the one that always complains about not having a plan?"

"True," Doug conceded. "But we gotta mix it up before you turn into a real tin-man. Here." He pulled a flanged mechanical gadget from his hip and tossed it to H.B. before starting to fumble with his own ranged weapon.

H.B. caught the handle of Doug's photo saber. Hiding his surprise, he flicked the blade on, then gave the sparkling sword a measured flourish. He shut it off hastily when Doug handed him a ray gun half as long as H.B. was tall.

H.B. accepted his new load out with a sigh, in turn passing over his exquisitely tuned assault weapon. "Very well. We'll try your experiment, but only since we've reached our target destination and only because the gathering is ridiculously below our levels. We switch back before we start for home."

Doug was already swinging H.B.'s shield down, practicing some of the meatier moves it offered. "Sure thing, H.B." said Doug with a grin. "Nothing to it but for you to light it up."

H.B. never mentioned to anyone that for weeks afterwards he dreamt of flying in the air, spinning, arms flung wide, as he executed the gymnastic excesses of Starlight Duster.

* * *

**a/n: Starlight Duster, so extra. I may have played my Ether Blosson Dance build to the dirt, oops. I started this with Frye, since he and H.B. are friends in my XCX. But Doug is fun to write too. I'm sure I'll bring Frye and also brainjacking in eventually. But not at the same time.**

**Next up: Bait. Hey, Tatsu! Want to go on a mission?  
**


	3. 3 Bait

**Inktober 2019 3 Bait**

**a/n: A man needs his hobbies, but Vandham is rethinking his life choices. Lin and Tatsu aren't helping. Neither is Mira.**

**Tiny swears, ooooo language!**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, although I think the mini-mart might be DLC.**

* * *

Lin lunged after her round Nopon sidekick, but Tatsu dodged with surprising effectiveness. They were both hampered by the small size of the boat and the fishing paraphernalia, so the chase was half-hearted at best. The boat still rocked and splashed wildly in the otherwise calm waters of Biahno Lake.

Vandham gritted his teeth. His mustache fluttered as he heaved a deep sigh, not his first for the day. He shouldn't blame the kids for getting restless after two hours without a bite. The fracas wasn't doing anything to improve their chances though. He started his twenty-ninth internal countdown to calm his nerves as the chase continued behind him.

As the row boat wobbled, a red and white container slid along the bottom of the boat and came to rest beside his ankle. He sighed again, and cursed his malcontent. The cooler contained a tasty picnic lunch for the three of them, with lemonade for the kids and a frosty six-pack for himself. Make that a five-pack. He'd sampled one can already. Cool, wet, tasty, and 100% alcohol-free. Three out of four should be enough for any man.

"Hey, Commander," Lin shrieked. "Do you think we'd have better luck if we switched up the bait? Like maybe use a certain Nopon?"

"Meh, meh, Linly better choice. Naked and wiggly like sabula worm."

"Ooooh, stop calling me naked. Just because I'm not a furball...!" The chase resumed.

His frown deepened. Three out of four wasn't doing a damn thing to dull the edge of having to listen to adolescent stand-up routines. Back in the city, he'd tried to convince the clerk at the mini-mart that just this once she could bend the rules about no alcohol for away teams. He was Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces after all, and they weren't going out of sight of the city. He'd switched from pleading to bluster by the end. "This isn't a mission. We're going fishing. Let me talk to someone else."

He'd known he'd messed up before he'd shut his mouth. The Nopon cashier, pink and fluffy and barely able to peek over the counter, had fixed him with a glare like miranium. "Customer not special. Inside NLA we sell beer. Outside NLA friend lucky we sell them bait." He'd meekly accepted the cooler full of endurance ice, Nopon bento, and near-beer, and headed out to the day's adventures. A day filled with boredom, complaining, and nothing worth drinking.

"Commander, I don't think there are any fish in this dumb lake," whined Lin directly in his ear.

Vandham didn't startle: stealth wasn't this kid's forte. "Maybe if you two stayed quiet for 30 whole seconds, we'd get a chance to find out," he said with an exaggerated growl. She giggled and leaned on his shoulder, staring at the pointless bobber, willing it to sink or wiggle or do anything but float cheerfully in the water.

Vandham changed his mind. He didn't need any beer or bites to make this trip perfect, he thought. Life could stay this way forever as far as he was concerned.

The boat was quiet for far more than the half-minute he'd requested. Vandham barely noticed Tatsu's strained whimper from the back of the boat. "Meh, meh. Friend need bigger boat."

Vandham had hit the panic button clipped to his tank top strap before he'd even started to turn around. Four skells "coincidentally" taking an extended break on the lake's shore would reach them in under two minutes. In the meantime, he already had both hands full of tentacles as he fought off something that rivaled the most demonic kraken rising from Earth nightmares. Electric shocks zapped along his chest and arms, and barbed suckers were trying to get a better purchase on and in his skin. Waves of silty water were threatening to swamp the boat as it pitched wildly.

Lin had dragged Tatsu away, and the two kids were huddled in the stern. He had to keep them safe. He looped a squirming appendage around a fist and squeezed until it stopped moving. "God ... damn it ... messing with my day off .. no killer squid ... gonna crash my damn picnic..."

"Ooooo, language," chided Tatsu.

"Shut up and help, Tater. Where's my Gatling gun?!" yelled Lin.

He realized he wasn't going to survive until the reinforcements arrived. He focused his fury and terror and hauled harder on the beast. "I ... don't even ... like ... fricking ... kalamari!"

He bent his back and yanked viciously upward. A bullet-like head with multiple silvery-blue eyes surfaced and without a second thought Vandham slammed his forehead straight into it. To his relief (and slight amazement) the creature went limp, although he was still hopelessly tangled in its tentacles. He had to scramble to brace himself and avoid being pulled overboard as the body started to sink under the waters.

Over the cacophony of arriving mechs and Tatsu's yelps of victory, he heard Lin say, "Can we go home now?" She sounded much younger than she had a few minutes ago.

"Yeah, I think we caught our limit."

* * *

**a/n: The Nopon cashier is named Adola and she runs the mini-mart next to the skell refueling station by the West Gate, all clearly visible in my copy of XCX. If you don't have them, your copy is defective, and let's hope the port has better quality control. Unnamed duoguill, same.  
**

**Next up: Freeze. No idea. Phog + angst? Lara Mara + yet more Nopon? Wrothians + ice cream?**

(What port? Weeping intensifies.)


	4. 4 Freeze

**Inktober 2019 4 Freeze**

**a/n: A small party has reached the edge of Primordia and is ready to enter Noctilum. Nothing to worry about.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and I love the sound design of this game.**

* * *

"It isn't much further, but we can't be too careful. Follow me." The dark-haired Pathfinder swerved from the broad path leading toward a narrow opening in the cliff face, stepping nimbly into a thicket of pale vegetation.

Irina followed at his heels. In turn, the rookie of the team shrugged and followed her. Cross understood that hugging edges of rock formations was the safe bet, if less than heroic. Larger indigen in the mood for snacks tended to prowl the hard-packed dirt trails that criss-crossed Mira, with unlucky BLADEs acting both as the food and the delivery service. Cross had survived more than one ambush in the short time since they'd been awakened.

On their own, they might have stuck it out. The sky overhead was blue and clear and empty of threat. There were no overhangs from which something hungry could drop. Looking back at the expanse of plains, nothing was trailing the party, not even with their eyes. But if the route was good enough for Irina, it was good enough for the rookie. They had reason to trust the no-nonsense BLADE.

The last member of their team was lagging, alternately bending his bright head over his comms device and halfheartedly stumbling after them. Cross looked back at the young man with good-humor. Phog wasn't in any rush. He wasn't excited by new worlds to conquer. Or rather, he didn't need a new continent to find deep challenge. He found as much to explore in the ants at his feet or in a handful of gravel.

Their leader H.B. wasn't as indulgent. "Come along now, Phog," he snapped.

"I think we should go back to the path." Phog took a small step, checked his device, and halted with a certain air of finality. With his floof of white blonde hair and his loose shorts, he reminded Cross more of a stubborn toddler than a talented Prospector.

"If you're worried about there being poison ivy, I've got some stuff for your legs when we take a break," Irina said encouragingly.

"If he wore proper attire, we wouldn't be having this issue," remarked H.B. tartly.

"Please stop," Phog said even more quietly.

H.B. and Irina ignored him and moved forward toward the crevice. Cross, however, slowed their stride. They tried to set each step carefully, but they couldn't avoid every tangled net of roots.

"Freeze," whispered Phog.

Something that wasn't wind rustled through the broad leaves, then settled. For a moment Cross heard a sound like distant glass breaking. The rookie swiveled their head toward the abandoned path and looked questioningly at Phog. Phog nodded and raised his fingers, silently counting down. 5, 4, 3, 2. On one, both BLADEs pelted back toward the path.

A mass of insectoid indigen rose like a reverse shower of cherry blossoms, each animal the size of a beach umbrella. Metallic chiming split the air. The enemy whirled and chattered and sprayed the humans with stinging projectiles.

And that, dear children, is how H.B. discovered mortifole, Cross learned to understand what Phog almost managed to say, and Irina field-tested her entire tube of anti-sting ointment.

* * *

**a/n: Personally, my Cross never noticed danger until he was already dead, but maybe your Cross was different.**

**Next up: Build. Why am I thinking Orphe and termite mounds?**


	5. 5 Build

**Inktober 2019 5 Build**

**A/n: A visit inside the head of Case the Cross. **

**Typed on mobile, ugh, so editing is minimal. **

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, except the unnamed teammates.**

* * *

Months before she was finally bounced from BLADE, Case knew it couldn't last. There was something hiding in her brain that was going to ruin things sooner or later. She privately thought of it as an illness, but she feared it was simply part of her nature.

It didn't happen every mission, but she was always on edge, waiting for the first sign. When the bad feelings did start, she'd have a moment of relief born of recognition. Here it is, she'd think, I wasn't imagining it. Then relief would transform into horror, and she'd start a countdown untill they returned safe to New Los Angeles. With each passing day she'd worry: would the mission be completed before she lost her struggle with the infection? Or would today be the day she revealed her secret in the worst way?

Her current mission was one of the ones where she counted every second, every movement. It shouldn't have been like that, not really. The team were fine people. But Case had felt the first itch when the team leader had looked her over on Division Drive, snorted, and turned her attention back to the other specialists. It made sense. Case's role was to be the muscle on the mission. No point wasting words on somebody whose job was to shoot things. She could be trusted to defend the others without any instruction. It wasn't like she had anything to add to the discussion of Frontier Nav probes, drill bits, and pseudo-obsidian strata.

She'd hoped for something better. Frye's brother was on this mission, and Frye was close to being a friend. Frye's brother was nothing like him, she soon realized. She ditched her hopes on that front before they had left the city. She wasn't sure he'd even heard her name.

The third guy, as bro as bro could be, not only knew her name: he knew her nickname, and he wasn't shy about using it. "Hey, Headcase, sling me that duffle." "Headcase, your turn for guard duty." "Think fast, Headcase." He didn't mean any harm, she realized. Since the party leader had no time for her, and Phog was on a different planet, the guy ended up being the only one to talk to her. It was nice to be acknowledged by somebody. "You want the last of the coffee, Headcase?"

It was bitter and hard to swallow, but she took it.

Once they left sight of the city, the thing had started to build, and so Case was careful. She watched what she said. She counted her steps. She checked herself every time she touched a weapon. No one else saw her hesitation, at least she hoped not, but Case knew it was there. She made sure of it.

They got lucky, at the tail end of the trip, although only Case realized it. On the way to their shiny new probe, the team was jumped by a dozen grex, one of those unexpected swarms that good teams were trained to expect. None of the grex were tyrant level, not exactly, but they moved as a pack and their numbers were high. The three specialists were driven back to the shadow of their one skell, itself specialized for mining and not for fighting.

Case was left standing in the forefront, far enough ahead that she was in danger of being surrounded, should she be so careless to let a grex cut her off. She wasn't careless, and she wasn't afraid. She'd evaluated each pack member, from fanged snout to sharply barbed tail, and she had selected her target. It was a good choice: the second strongest member, already grievously injured and wild with pain. Case thought there might be some fury and humiliation in its eyes as well. She twitched her knife, using it as a lens, and the creature's eyes turned into a scarlet mirtor, then into a window through which Case could see everything.

_pack leader chose wrong pack leader chose to hurt me pack wants to hurt me must turn on pack leader must turn on my pack and hurt and rip and punish _

Case reclaimed her vision and watched her target lunge for the throat of the largest animal. The brainjack wouldn't last more than a few seconds, but it was long enough for Case to down several lesser threats. The rest of the battle was mechanical and soon the team was busy inspecting the newest Frontier Nav probe on Mira.

The last hours of the mission passed peacefully. Case had no reason for concern, regardless of her team's behavior, good or bad. Why should she? For the moment, she was stable. Her wound had been drained.

* * *

**a/n: I promised you brainjacking and I delivered. Case worries too much. It actually takes quite a lot to set her off, as seen by how chill she acts in (shameless plug is shameless) Drunkard, Hobo, Liar.**

**Next up: Husky. **


	6. 6 Husky

**Inktober 2019 06 Husky**

**a/n: Vandham causes a diplomatic incident on the Ma-non ship.**

**Slight swears, and can you blame him?**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Vandham, his face bright and hair wild, barged into the office and leaned his bulky frame over Nagi's desk. Without a word, he yanked a drawer open and awkwardly started rummaging though it.

"May I help you?" inquired Nagi pointedly.

"I know you got a bottle in there, somewhere."

Errant office supplies hit the floor as the search continued. Nagi moved a fraction away from his desk and watched the chaos. A moment later, Vandham had found his target, a small bottle of sake. He flung himself away and landed on an office chair that had survived the crash onto Mira and thus was able to receive his mass with only a small creak.

Nagi smoothly fished two small cups from the wreckage of his desk drawer and pushed them towards Vandham by the time the other man had wiped his brow from all the exertion. Vandham considered this, uncorked the bottle, and poured until one cup was full to the brim. Then he lifted the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back. A moment later, the bottle was slammed back onto the desk with a hollow clink.

Nagi paused to say a silent prayer for the dead soldier, then took a measured sip from his cup.

Vandham blew out a gust of breath and settled himself more carefully. "Damn, I needed that." He retrieved the bottle and shook it inquiringly, then set it back ruefully. "Sorry about that, Kentaro. You know I'm good for a refill, right?"

"I would expect so." Nagi savored another sip. "Trouble on the Ma-non ship?"

The feverish flush returned to Vandham's cheeks. "Our allies are gonna kill me."

"An unwelcome surprise. Literally?"

"God, I hope not. I may have caused a slight diplomatic incident."

Nagi drained his glass. The time for amusement was over. "Tell me what happened, exactly."

"You know the leader of the Prone, what's his name?"

"Auld Belgazus' son? I believe he took over his father's position."

"Yeah, well, he's got a daughter. A couple. But one of them, Duna, she ... uh ... approached me." Vandham's face twisted in memory.

As the silence lengthened, Nagi finally prompted the other man. "And ..."

"I think she proposed to me. Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Probably."

"And your response?'

"I ran, man. Sprinted. I practically jumped off that damn ship."

Nagi wished he had a reserve bottle. "Not a response calculated to enhance inter-species relations," he offered dryly.

Vandham couldn't repress a shudder. "You could say that."

"I suppose we'll let Chausson find a way to smooth it over."

Vandham's face went from rosy to crimson. "He hears nothing about this. Not. One. Word!" He sighed again. "I'll talk to the girl tomorrow. Apologize or something."

Nagi looked sternly at his former subordinate. "And make your position clear, I hope. Unless ..."

"Trust me, I am very clear on that point.

_Her voice had been husky. "Your honor rivals that of our finest warriors, and your intelligence surpasses theirs." She ran a slim but strong blue hand lightly across his chest. "As does your form. I dream that someday you might wrap me in your powerful arms." She leaned towards him, and her low-cut blouse and generous curves did nothing to distract him from how parts of her face squirmed and clicked._

* * *

**a/n: This is 95% canon, I kid you not. God I love this game.**

**Don't worry. A few hours later, somebody buys Miss Duna Valdileo a beer and dinner, and I have the fic to prove it. New Faces. Shameless plug is shameless.**

**Next up: Who cares, I think I jumped the shark with this one. Enchanted. Celica, maybe.**


	7. 7 Enchanted

**Inktober 2019 7 Enchanted**

**a/n: Once upon a time, Case the Cross took care of a friend after he suffered a serious injury in Sylvalum (shameless plug: Drunkard, Hobo, Liar). I didn't write much about their week of boring trips to the Mim Center, but you can imagine how draining it could be. The two need their rest.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and they gave me Case.**

* * *

Two slender bodies share a narrow bed, in a dim and narrow room, in a dark and narrow tower. Day is slipping over the edge of night on a planet where the sun never moves, and the room's lighting system does what it can to fill the windowless room with artificial twilight.

There isn't much to distinguish the two soldiers, even by daylight. Slim, young, hair kept short but far from neat, wide uncertain eyes. In the darkness the few differences disappear. Copper or brown, green or blue, it all vanishes. The two could be copies.

Both are exhausted from a day at the Mim Center, waiting on appointments and examinations, doing nothing but the tedious process of being made better. They whisper now, about nothing.

"I'm too tired to sleep," he whines.

Their heads share one pillow. It's easier. No need to look at each other, no need to say anything louder than a breath. They keep their eyes closed, too close to focus on the other's face. Sometimes one will grab the other's hand, when an extra anchor is needed. But mostly they drift.

"I know," she says. "Tell me another."

His face shifts, but she can't see if he's smiling or grimacing. "It's stupid."

"No one else is here. I like them. Tell me." She sounds hungry, but not for food.

He begins so quickly that it's clear he doesn't mind. "Once upon a time," he starts. For a second she rubs her forehead against his, to show her approval. "Once upon a time there was a princess with red hair." He hears her surprised gasp. She's still astonished that people can do this. He hopes she never feels ashamed for liking it.

"Was she pretty? Did she have long hair?" She touches his hand for a moment, then draws back. She doesn't want to ask for too much.

"Very long, very beautiful." He brushes a loose strand from his eyes, maybe his own, maybe hers. "She wore diamonds in her hair every day, as thick as spores." He mouth is suddenly too dry to continue.

"Like butterflies," she corrects.

He gulps. "Like stars," he says, and the pillow shifts as she nods in agreement. "But she was sad. An evil baron had stolen an enchanted locket from her."

She stiffens. She's already alert for danger. "You won't hurt him, will you? I don't want him hurt. Even if he deserves it."

His voice is soothing. "No, I won't let him get hurt. We'll just have a thief steal the locket back for her or something."

She nods invisibly. "I like how you can make things be okay."

"Yeah. About the only way it works."

It's her turn to tell him a story. "You're gonna be okay, too. They know what they're doing," she says. "We just gotta be patient." She squeezes his hand in the darkness. "Now go on. I want to meet that thief."

* * *

**a/n: Gwin writes fanfiction, fite me. Case leaves an anonymous thumbs up for every story. This would come after "Work Break" (shameless plug remains shameless) if I admitted having anything to do with this nonsense.**

**Write what you want to see in the world, or what you need most, dammit.**

**Next up: Ah ha ha ha! I'm ditching the official prompts and using the Xenotober prompts for one day only. "You're a Nopon now." Hysterics intensify.**


	8. 8 You're a Nopon now

**Inktober 2019 08 You're a Nopon now.**

**a/n: What if something weird happened on Mira? Asking for a friend.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, except for the parts that belong to Kafka.  
**

* * *

One morning, as Lin Lee Koo woke from uneasy dreams, she found that her room had grown unfamiliar during the night. The bed felt weirdly flat and the covers had become frankly excessive. She struggled to free herself, unusually clumsy in her movements, and finally rolled, literally rolled, out of bed to the floor. The drop was jarring, much further than she expected. She hurried to the mirror on her wall to see if she had shrunk somehow.

Due to the improved sound-proofing offered by the Ma-non, no one could hear her screams from the corridor outside.

-xcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcx-

Lin raced into the lounge, her panic undiminished. She didn't have any plan beyond finding someone, anyone, and demanding that they fix her, and right now! The sight of Elma, her beloved and trusted team leader, was almost enough to calm her. This was the answer to her prayers. There was nothing Elma couldn't face, nothing she couldn't make better.

"Elma! ELMA! Help!" Granted, almost calm was nowhere near actually calm, but Lin was sure that things would get better soon.

Elma looked at her with curiosity. "Greetings, new friend. What help friend need?"

"Stop trying to be funny! Because I am not in the mood, not at all! Just look at me!"

When Elma stood up and started to walk over to her, Lin had to repress a shudder. Something about the older woman looked so ugly. Maybe it was how her legs scissored stiffly, or how the skin on her face seemed slick and smooth, almost sticky. Had Elma changed in the night and not noticed?

She was towering over Lin now. "Elma not understand." Her voice was still soothing, even if she was speaking almost gibberish.

Lin shrieked with frustration and stomped her foot. Or that's what she meant to do. Instead, her wingarms fluttered furiously, lifting her into a series of agitated bounces. As for the shriek... "Meh, meh ... urk!" Lin cut herself off and forced herself to stay completely still. Only her fluffy topknot tuft quivered violently.

"Friend seem very upset," Elma said.

Lin was almost crying now. "Elma, please, look at me. Tell me you recognize me." Lin took a deep breath and spoke as clearly as possible. "I'm Lin. Lin Lee. I'm just changed, somehow."

Elma reached out with an arm that didn't seem to ever end. Lin tried not to flinch as she tugged something from Lin's tuft. It was a small red barrette, shaped like a sword.

"Linly?" Elma asked in wonder.

Lin didn't trust her voice. She nodded so hard that she wobbled.

"Elma call BLADE friends right now."

-xcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcx-

Tatsu had arrived before Elma had finished the first in a series of calls, all of them unsatisfactory and increasingly distressing. Lin should have felt better, because it was starting to sound like other people had turned into furballs during the night. In fact, probably a lot of them had. So she wasn't alone. On the other hand, this indicated less that she was in good company and more that her problem wasn't their biggest issue. Lin wasn't happy to be ignored. Tatsu's response, however, was not making it better.

"I always knew you were clever, but now you finally sound like it," he complimented her. "All your silly chatter is gone."

"Why are you talking weird?" she snapped.

"I'm talking the same as I always do, Lin. You're the one who's changed. A lot." He smiled. "Maybe all of this has improved your listening comprehension."

"Stop making fun of me!"

"Tease you? I would never dream of it!" he said, and smiled again. Lin would have argued more but he changed the subject. "Want to help me make breakfast? I have a feeling we may need a lot of snacks."

Tatsu may have been used to working in a kitchen where the counters were ridiculously high and all the handles required hands that were either larger or smaller than the four she now had, but Lin definitely wasn't. In fact, when she realized that she indeed had four hands, she freaked out so much that Tatsu insisted she go sit on a sofa until she stopped bouncing. It wasn't much later that he brought her a cup of cocoa and a plate of toast, smeared with something gross.

"I'm not hungry," she snapped.

"Try to eat something anyway. My mother always says that an empty stomach leads to an empty head."

-xcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcx-

Half an hour later, the cup and plate were empty and the briefing area was full. Lin's heart sank as Nopon after Nopon waddled in, confirming her suspicions that this wasn't only her own personal nightmare. Depending on the person, it was more or less difficult to recognize them. The bespectacled brown Nopon turned out to be an expert from the Mimeosome Maintenance Center. The excessively fluffy blue one had Irina's sharp voice. The only two who were unchanged were Elma and Celica, although both seemed strangely distended.

"Okay, it looks like about 80% of BLADEs have been Noponized," said the largest Nopon Lin had ever seen. Yellow and mustached and wearing a tank top that barely managed to encase his girth, Commander Vandham still radiated a familiar no-nonsense attitude. "A few oddballs like Elma didn't change. Yelv, that rookie, a fair share of Reclaimers."

"Away teams were affected same as NLA," added Irina.

"Scary Secretary changed too," Elma said regretfully.

"Yeah, I heard from him. I also heard there are some very surprised enemy in Sylvalum, reassessing the threat level of Nopon." Vandham shook his round body. "How are the xenos doing?"

"Rock not changed. Ma-non same, too," Celica stated. Lin sighed. She wished the normal people didn't sound so dumb.

"Good news for the pizza joint, not much help otherwise," snapped the Commander. "How are the original Nopon doing?"

"I contacted the caravans and warned them about new members," Tatsu answered promptly. "They noticed the change in local BLADE observers, but otherwise nothing amiss. Every leader has offered whatever support they can."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Same as before. Supplies, shelter, and advice, at a generous discount. Unfortunately, none of the caravan leaders had any personal experience with this kind of situation. Same goes for the elders."

"Any historical clues?"

"None."

The brown Nopon struggled to adjust his glasses. "We've generally found Nopon history to be useless."

"As a race, we prefer to look forward," Tatsu argued suavely. "Can you blame us, when novel events like this happen regularly?"

"We're not here to argue philosophy, people, we're here to try to fix this. Any ideas?"

There was a short confusion of theories, but nothing that was worth more than a few sentences. Everyone soon grew silent.

Vandham slapped the table with his wingarm. "We got nothing, at least so far. What we do have is a city full of people with radically different needs, away teams that are trapped in the field, critically reduced defenses, and an enemy that still wants us dead. We need a solution, and we need to survive until we get it." He started to bark orders. "Elma, you and Celica are in charge of away teams. They can't use skells and they can't travel over land safely, much less quickly. I'd love to have you on the fix-it team, but we gotta get our people home safely. Grab any human BLADEs you need, do it fast, and then pitch in with figuring the whys and most importantly the solution. Irina. Weapons. What can we use, even in this form?"

"Nopon Commerce Guild would be the best..."

"Get on it. Make a list, make an inventory, and make sure that anyone who hasn't lost their tiny mind in this disaster is as useful as possible. Lin."

"Yes sir," Lin said immediately.

"You've been lugging young Tatsu around for weeks, including having him ride shotgun. I'd like our survival chances a lot better if we could get bodies in skells. Nopon bodies. You catch my drift?"

"Project Furball Pilot, on it, sir!"

He turned to the Mim technician. "Solan and me are gonna be best buddies. We have a city full of citizens that are built differently than they were yesterday. Our job will be to make sure everyone has what they need to keep body and soul together. Anything you'd like to add?"

Solon coughed and pulled off his glasses. Lin tried not to giggle at how squinty his eyes now were, so unlike the limpid pools that were typical Nopon eyes. "As far as we can determine, we are now fully organic. We've been used to living as mimeosomes for years. We'll have to relearn needing food and water, needing to rest, taking fall danger, and so on."

"Tell that to your teams, spread the word around," ordered Vandham. "I'll get Chausson to give a speech, although he's somewhat less impressive in his current form." The snickering at the table was a welcome relief. "Oh, and one more thing. Lin, cover your ears," he barked.

Lin sorta kinda covered them, but his voice was loud so she didn't miss much. Or anything, actually.

"If we're organic, then we may very well have all the bonuses that come with that. I do not need a littlepon boom in a few months. Tell your people to keep it in their pants, or fur, or whatever, until we know more about how long we're stuck this way."

"Ew!" Lin said involuntarily.

"I told you to cover your ears, missy."

"Ew ew ew!" said Lin.

"Right. That's about it. Ping me with anything you come up with, especially if it could fix this mess. But remember: you're all going to need to maintain these bodies, so food and rest need to be scheduled into the workload. Now scatter!"

-xcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcx-

Twenty hours later, as an exhausted NLA slept fitfully, the planet Mira noticed that her translation matrix had been a little too efficient. By morning, the metamorphosis was over.

* * *

**a/n: Say it with me kids, "zu einem ungeheueren Ungeziefer verwandelt!" Steal from the best, I say. ****I bet you that somebody at Monolith Soft imagined this scenario at some point and if that informs their new IP I am 100% down for it.**

**Rumor has it that this topic from the Xenotober was chosen with madwomen like me in mind. For which I can only say, thank you thank you thank you.**

**Tomorrow: Swing. It needs to be shorter, because this was too much for me.**


	9. 9 Swing

**Inktober 2019 09 Swing**

**a/n: Taaaaake me out to the baaaaaal game. Taaaaaake me out to the crowd!**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft and I'm sorry I didn't figure out to have Cross in a saltat-based mascot costume.**

* * *

Lin: And we'd like to thank Orphean Technologies for making this commentary possible. Look for their new line of armor with the motto: _Go forth. Evade and conquer._

Tatsu: Tatsu not able to evade need for snacks.

Lin: We know, Tatsu. The score is still tied 1-1 as Ga Jiarg steps up to the plate. Will the prince be able to break the tie? Irina Akulov, number 3, winds up and ... it's a swing and a miss.

[growl from the field: I never miss.]

Tatsu: Big whoosh. No big hit.

Lin: Brave words from the Nopon hiding behind me.

[human voice: Uh, guys?]

Lin: Folks, the catcher, Gwin Evans, number 7, is standing up and opening his mitt. What's that falling out from his hand?

Tatsu: Sand? Cracker crumbs?

Lin: Looks like the ball disintegrated. I guess Jiarg got a piece of the pitch after all. The umpire L must now decide: strike or foul. Let's join him to check while somebody gets a new ball.

L: We are still unclear. We think perhaps it is a bird.

Gwin: Foul.

L: Honk! We enjoy the poetry of this goose game.

Lin: Good news, a new ball has been found. I was afraid we were running out. Irina is calling Gwin up to the mound for a consultation. Let's interview some people in the stands. Excuse me, sir, tell the listeners your name.

Frye: Blood Ostrich.

Lin: Your real name.

Frye: Sheesh, you're no fun. I'm Frye Christoph, and lemme give a big shout out to the lushes in the Repenta parking lot. There's still some beer left here, but you gotta get a move on.

Lin: Thanks, I'm sure we need more fans. Reminder that our next game is scheduled for Saturday, same place, the Outfitter's hangar, as soon as we get any one else to make a team.

Tatsu: Linly! Linly!

Lin: I see that play is about to resume. Say, Tatsu, what do you think about the ruling allowing Alexa to ride in a skell while playing right field?

Tatsu: Tatsu not argue with person in Ares.

Lin: Aside from that, I agree with the ruling. After all, the Wrothians have a player that can split into three, which gives them a distinct advantage. I see that Irina is warming up. It's a fast pitch, zinging over the plate and Ga Jiarg has gotten a good hit off it. It's going, going,..

[L: Gone home!]

Lin: Wait! Alexa's stretched up, or rather her mech has, and she's caught the ball. And it looks like she's crushed it too. Time to get another ball.

Tatsu: Exciting news. New team possible.

Lin: Let's interview the coach. Excuse me, what is your name?

Unidentified: [buzzing noise]

Lin: Can we get a human version?

Nan'celeg: Nan'celeg will do.

Lin: And you're going to field a team?

Nan'celeg: I have spoken with L and the Prince. The Orphe will field a team against the Wrothians on Saturday. Having studied the rules, I am 87.65% certain we will prevail.

L: We have even encouraged them to make a wager. To keep things fascinating.

Lin: Excuse me, Mr. Umpire, aren't you supposed to be on the field?

L: We believe the game is called due to skell. Alexa is disassembling her Ares and the right field is unplayable.

Lin: She's fixing her Ares? Without me? Ahh, Tatsu, take over, I gotta go.

Tatsu: And that concludes broadcast. Friends tune in Saturday for more NLA baseball.

* * *

**a/n: The original version was wildly different in form, but not in content. The weird runs true in my head.**

**Next up: Pattern. Do no get me started on armour.**


	10. 10 Pattern

**Inktober 2019 10 Pattern**

**a/n: Frye and H.B. are on a stealth mission, one that requires fashion gear.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Frye had insisted on wearing sun glasses as part of his disguise. "I got a reputation going, and I don't want to blow it because somebody recognizes me."

H.B. might have accepted this, but Frye had chosen ones with oversized heart-shaped frames in a blistering pink. H.B. could barely stand to look at him. "You realize you look ridiculous."

"That's the point. We want to fit the pattern, right?"

"I told you not to discuss the mission," H.B. whispered sharply.

"You're the one who started it," Frye whispered back.

H.B. ignored him and started sharpening his knife with fumbling hands. Doing this chore badly on purpose was almost as painful as Frye's outfit. But just like Frye, H.B. was trying to look as inept as possible. That was the whole plan: look like a nooby team, poorly trained and equipped, with the job of transporting supplies to more important outposts. The Ganglion had targeted similar teams, with deadly results. That was going to end.

They'd done their best to mimic as tempting and easy a target as possible. The clearing was inconveniently distant from other ECP outposts. By their best guess, it was also close to the likely source of attacks. They'd spent the morning stacking crates, all clearly labeled "medical" or "rations", into the nearby temporary shelter. The two had bickered and complained loudly, and Frye had done astonishing acts of negligence. Their single skell was a baby at level 20, unenhanced and incompletely armed, and parked at some distance from the tent. It got worse. Incomplete team. Introductory weapons. Store-bought uniforms.

H.B. hoped that the enemy was watching, because the uniform was itchy and his load-out was an insult. He couldn't wait to return to NLA and restore his build and his pride.

"I got you a pair too," Frye said cheerfully. He flicked a duplicate of his hideous accessory at H.B.

H.B. sighed and put the glasses on . Like Frye, H.B. knew he had a reputation, and had sacrificed his normal eye-wear in order to hide his identity. He pushed the sunglasses up his distinguished nose. At least his face didn't feel so naked now. "Happy?"

Frye opened his mouth to say something calculated to infuriate H.B., then shut it suddenly. His grin shifted from open to feral. H.B. wasn't quite as obvious, but he'd heard it too. The forest floor had creaked, softly, but not because of the weight of trees swaying in the wind.

"I sure could go for some coffee," Frye announced stiffly. It was a terrible acting job, but he'd said the code words loudly enough to alert the rookie tucked in the nearby crate, loosely closed and labeled "water (potable)". Frye stood and wandered into the shelter. As soon as he lowered the flap, H.B. knew he'd be ripping open another crate ("communications") that held their proper weapons.

H.B. tugged at his ill-fitting uniform. Behind the novelty sunglasses, his eyes were closed. He didn't have to look to count footfalls. Three enemy directly to his left, probably three more on the far side of the tent. He'd ditched the flimsy knife and pulled out a hidden beam saber exactly one second after the first Marnuck had stepped into the clearing.

* * *

**a/n: a) I wasn't feeling it, so I brought out my super weapon: Halo 3 music, on loop. Never played the game, but The Covenant does the trick, kids. And those Marnuck are going to be hella sorry, is all I can say. b) Yes, yes, I know H.B. uses a shield, but he learned something from Doug in Inktober'19 2 Mindless. c) Fashion gear is. A. Blessing.**

**Next up: Snow. It would be too easy to use Sylvalum, but right now I need all the help I can get. Drop me a review and save a life.**


	11. 11 Snow

**Inktober 2019 11 Snow**

**a/n: What is the best method of teaching Nopon about Earth weather?**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and Momo is my kid's avatar in most other games but not this one.**

* * *

Momo skidded into the lounge, pigtails flying, within minutes of getting Lin's text. "What's up, buttercup?"

Lin giggled at her friend. "I was hoping you'd help me. I got a weird message from Hope. You've been helping her, right?"

"Yeah, with the littlepon model school." Momo wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure how much help I am, though. I kinda think its just Hope's way of back-filling the hole in my brain. Still, they're really cute."

"Some of them," snorted Lin, sliding a glance at Tatsu. Tatsu stoically ignored the dig. "Anyway, Hope sounded worried or something. She just asked for Tatsu and me, but I kinda want backup. You in?"

"Sure thing. Can't let your besties down. Right, Tatsu?"

The threesome walked toward the elevator that lead to the Residential District. A crowd at the edge of the observation deck distracted them. They turned their gazes to where people were pointing and were shocked to see the Ma-non ship covered in a dark mist. It was a sunny day and the ship that floated over the southwest quarter of the city should be sparkling smooth and bronze. Today, its belly was obscured by rolling black clouds, while paler grey plumes were pouring from the upper levels to join the shaggy beard of vapor.

Momo didn't bother with the elevator. She leapt to the roadway beneath, careful not to overshoot and plunge into the gel moat. She heard Lin land behind her with a heavier crunch due to lugging a full-grown Nopon around. After a split second of recovery, the team raced for the park.

Other people were moving in the same direction, alone or in groups. When groups met, they would start talking, words spilling over and interrupting themselves with laughter. Momo noticed that everyone was smoking, although she didn't smell cigarettes.

"Oh my gosh," said Lin. She sounded excited. "I can't believe it." Smoke was escaping from her mouth as well.

Momo didn't understand. Why wasn't Lin worried by the change in the other humans? This smoke didn't seem natural. Also, Momo's vision was growing blurry. Something small and white shimmered past her, a bug or a spore, but she wasn't quick enough to catch it. She shook her head and aimed straight for the park and Hope.

They found the Mediator surrounded by a halo of littlepon. The small Nopon children were dancing and spinning without a sign of distress. When Tatsu joined them, puffing small clouds, the littlepon drew him away to show him how the park had changed.

Momo looked around the park herself. Someone had removed the grass and replaced it with hills of white pavement. They'd replaced the street and sidewalks too, and sloppily paved the benches in the process. It looked like they'd even tried to pave the trees in white. Momo reached down and felt the stuff. It wasn't pavement; it felt more like sand except without grit, and the particles melted in her fingers. Momo stared across the park, trying to understand the transformation and failing. The more she looked, the more it felt like she was floating.

Hope tapped her elbow. "This is snow," she laughed. "I was complaining about how hard it was to explain Earth seasons to the littlepon, and a Ma-non friend came up with this." Hope swung her arms around and smiled her beautiful smile.

Momo checked Lin and saw an equally bright smile. "This is amazing, Momo! It's really snow. You know... winter! Snowmen! Earth!"

"I don't know," objected Momo. Earth was a foreign to her as this white stuff. "And is it real? Or is it something artificial that will go away?" She shook her wet fingers.

"Well, snow never lasts," Lin said, "so you gotta enjoy it while you can. Lemme teach you how to make a snow angel."

* * *

**a/n: I was uninspired. My kid said, "Duh, obvious. Littlepon learn about snow." Proving that all I ever learned, I learned from telling bedtime stories. Proving also that if you drop me an idea, chances are it will show up. (I'm still working on a romance with H.B. and it may yet happen.)**

**Next up: Dragon. Here telly telly telly!**


	12. 12 Dragon

**Inktober 2019 12 Dragon**

**a/n: If (Xenoblade X) and (dragon) then (telethia). If (skell) and (telethia) then no (skell).**

**Swears, and please add many many many more because I censored Gino.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and my OCs are idiots.**

* * *

"Triple A of Mira, how can I help you? Uh huh, mm, yeah. Any injuries? That's good. Can I get your BLADE number? No, no, don't worry, I just need it for our internal records. Mmhm, thanks. Is there anyone I can contact for you, you know, on the side? It's a little thing we do for ... no? Fine. We should be there by 1800, hang tight."

Gino frowned at the station manager. "Stop using that 'we', Lila. You're not sticking your nose out of the station."

"I'm with you in spirit. Noctilum, FN 201."

"Divine fricking Roost. Why it always got to be the fricking Roost?"

"You'd prefer lava? Or fishing someone out of the Oblivia Gap?"

"It would make a nice change. Or maybe Primordia for a change. It's almost dinner and I could stand to have a short job," he whined.

"Most of the rookies walk home if they get wrecked in Primordia."

"Dude could walk home from the Roost."

"Gal. Outfitter named Ephie, collecting trinkets and ran into trouble. Go, take an energy bar to keep off the hangries, and bring our soldier back. And take a dry set of clothes. She might appreciate it."

Gino grumbled as his drove his skell through the West Gate and out into the plains of Primordia. He shifted his legs, shaking away the hint of pain that sitting down caused him. Too much pain to let him be a BLADE but not enough to prevent him from picking up their sorry asses when they wrecked their own rides. AAA of Mira offered minor field repairs, fuel delivery, and a ride home if neither of those things was enough. Something that BLADE would do for free but Lila's service was discreet and fast, and gave the BLADE a chance to avoid official notice. In this case, little old Ephie was gonna take some heat, since towing a wrecked skell was strictly for the professionals, but at least she could gather herself a little before she had to face the music.

He hit the flight pack before the city had shrunk in the distance. Lila kept getting on his case for burning fuel, but screw her. This was the seventh BLADE who'd gotten into trouble this month at the same location. Lila probably had flyers stapled to the twisted roots near the Frontier Nav site, printed with service rates and the station's phone number. She was making a nice profit and he was missing his dinner.

He lofted over the division between the plains of Primordia and the dense forest of Noctilum and headed north. He followed the land, then the river, then a series of waterfalls, always upwards, stepwise. He wasn't a fancy pilot, so he didn't try anything cute like dodging between the cinnabar roots that twisted down from the Roost. Straight and low but not low enough to catch a ground enemy, that was his plan.

He landed at the site just as a shadow swept over the embankment. He shut the skell off abruptly and held his breath. You couldn't help it when that dragon passed overhead. You made yourself small and hoped it didn't notice you, even if you knew you were so far below it that it would never deign to touch you. When sunlight returned to the area, he popped the pilot's capsule and hopped out.

There was no one standing by the sparkling beacon of the Frontier Nav. No one resting on the root that towered over Gino's skell. "Hellooo? Anyone here? Pickup for Ephie?" Gino called out. His impatience covered for his fear nicely. Should he look for the wreckage? Maybe she'd gone back to get her purse or some other crap.

"Over here," called a human voice from the other side of the root, and he let his irritation increase. He ducked around to spot a woman, splashing in the shallow lagoon that filled the Roost. "I was just [splash] trying to collect [splash] at least one [splash splash] item ... ahhh!" She slipped and fell face first into the water.

Gino did not rush to help her. He was not getting paid for that. He was ready to yell right back at her when she surfaced and told him off for being unchivalrous or useless or some other kind of crap.

He wasn't prepared for her to rise from the pool laughing. "Oh man, that just about finishes my day. Empty handed, dead skell, and my shorts are wet. Well, thanks for coming and thanks for getting me home. Shall we?" She climbed onto the bank and held out her hand.

Gino shook it. "Clumsy on ground and in a skell, huh?"

"Root caught my boot, and that's my excuse. Not sure how I can explain about losing my skell again."

He looked over her dripping gear. Not low level, not poorly chosen, although her looping butterfly headgear was askew. "Dumbass rookies get wiped all the time to that thing." He waved up at the sky.

"I'm just dumbass, thanks." She looked upwards, past the tangled vegetation, beyond the edges of the cliffs that surrounded the Roost. "I think I got hypnotized. I was trying to figure out how the luminous parts attach to the wing, whether they shift when the telethia changes course. We still don't know if they're defensive or important for flight or... " She grinned at Gino. "I'll stop. You don't need to hear me go on about my theories."

Gino didn't smile. "I brought a change of clothes. Coveralls, if you want them."

"Thanks. Don't want me dripping in the jumpseat?"

"Passenger capsule. You ride in comfort."

"I'd prefer the jumpseat. I get motion sick otherwise. But I'll change in there before, if that's okay?"

Gino wasn't going to argue. He'd cleaned out enough skells after pilots or passengers had lost their lunches. She was in and out of the back capsule fast, not wasting any time. They settled into the now snug pilot's capsule and Gino lifted gently off.

The sunset was in full blast, filling the sky with reds even richer than the giant tree that grew in the center of the Roost. A slight hint of mist swirled below the roots, and their tips glowed in the twilight. The stars poked their way through the last of the light. Then a pattern of stars wheeled towards them.

"If you land on the crook over there, she should ignore us," Ephie said quietly.

Gino hovered the skell over a joint of woody roots and set the skell down. The Telethia glided above everything, cliffs, tree, mist. Wide triangles of light trailed its wings and small ones flickered along its back and tail. "It's not looking down here, right?" Gino asked.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure she sees us, but we know our place, so it's okay. I was nosy, so she smacked me." Ephie sighed. "I am not looking forward to explaining this."

Gino didn't engage the engines until the Telethia had reached the farthest end of its circuit, then aimed straight for the green blip that marked NLA and home.

* * *

**a/n: a) I cheated and typed this because I am a rule breaker. b) z15f20i12e09l14d on loop by the end. c) Gino does not offer to take Ephie out to dinner. Gino is an idiot.**

**Next up: Ash, and it's gonna be short because LIFE.**


	13. 13 Ash

**Inktober 2019 13 Ash  
**

**a/n: Dr. Neeshar consults with a colleague about sediment.**

**All OCs, all unsupported head canon.**

**The good stuff belongs to the design team of Monolith Soft, because the landscapes make me ask questions.**

* * *

Dr. Neeshar poked her head into the quiet lab. "Hello! Karen! You about done?"

The brunette was tapping away at a keyboard. She shrugged a shoulder at an empty chair. Neeshar settled into the seat and waited patiently.

Karen smacked the enter button and swiveled toward her friend. "It matches."

A grin spread across Neeshar's wide face. "Told you it would."

"Yeah, visually the layers match but that's no proof. I wasn't comfortable agreeing until..."

"... you'd used every damn machine that goes ping on our core samples. I get it. That's why I asked you to check." Neeshar reached for the screen but Karen pulled it slightly away.

"Don't interrupt me, Bunny." She pulled up a series of slides, and Neeshar's grin grew even broader. No moss grew on that woman, she thought. Trust Karen to be preparing a presentation even while measuring the data. She settled in to be a polite audience.

Karen flicked through her figures as she lectured. "The layer of ash from Oblivia is at the same position as those found here in Primordia and here in Noctilum. The layer is roughly the same as Sylvalum, although the mixing of spores made it harder to distinguish. We can't be as clear about Cauldros, too much turnover and added flow, but there are still traces that would match the same era."

"You'd guess how long?"

"Not going to do that, sorry, Bunny. We still don't have a clue how erosion and deposit rates work on Mira, or if they're similar era to era. But it comes after a period of limited pollination and before the empty period."

"So after agriculture and before the drought."

"Drought, extinction event, disaster, not sure what I'd like to call it."

"Meteor strike, maybe?"

"I don't think so." She pulled up a series of measurements. "Look at the types of inorganic materials in the ash. Purified iron, aluminum, and above all miranium. I'll grant you, maybe this planet could be working differently, but this combo? I'd say it's more likely to come from refined materials rather than raw rock. The layer is thinnest at Oblivia, increases and then decreases at a distance."

The two women stared at the screen. Neeshar shrugged her shoulders. "It's a layer of whatever lived in Oblivia, you're saying."

"That's one interpretation. Not impossible, if we use the legends the Nopon have about the rings and their uses."

"They wouldn't have legends from that long ago," Neeshar argued. "That would be at least, what, hundreds of thousands of years?"

"I told you, I'm not going to put a number on when this was deposited. And let's all agree that we don't a thing about how knowledge is transmitted on this planet." Karen flicked a few more screens, but the variety of other tests showed nothing novel. She looked at Neeshar. "I'm not sure how to present this to the ECP."

Neeshar looked surprised. "If you agree, then I'd love to see someone poke holes in the theory. Or at least try."

"No, I mean, how are they going to take it that our best source of miranium is from a geologic layer that was laid down at the same time as the civilizations of both Oblivia and Cauldros seemed to ..." She hesitated. "Disappear? End? That we're building our lives using the remains of theirs."

"When you put it that way, it feels a little ghoulish."

"Worse, if you consider that easy access miranium may be a limited resource. It may be more like petroleum and less like geothermal."

Neeshar whistled low. "They won't be happy to hear that. But buck up, Karen. Sooner we know, the better we can plan."

"That's not the worst thing." Karen wrapped her arms around her body and shivered. "I don't really want to confirm what makes the Outfitter team so curious about the rings in Oblivia."

* * *

**a/n: I don't have an answer, ma'am. If you have a good last name for Dr. Karen, ping me, because I still haven't decided. Neeshar's first name is ****Beyoncé, I kid you not.  
**

**Second one I cheated and typed because of Life and All It Entails. Tomorrow I'll try to be good.**

**Next up: Overgrown. Screams Noctilum, doesn't it?**


	14. 14 Overgrown

**Inktober 2019 14 Overgrown**

**A/n: Ma-non grow op.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Stepping out of the magic circle of the transport device, Vandham immediately had a good guess why he'd been invited up to the Ma-non ship. The atrium that connected the two lobes of the vessel was usually open to the sky. Today it was shaded by leaves, vines, and branches. Was this an experiment, some party decoration, or an infestation?

He was greeted by thicker plant growth once he entered the starboard side of the ship. Greeted and thwarted to be honest, since pushing his bulk through the increasingly dense vegetation took some muscle. It was all well and good for the few Ma-non he spotted through breaks in the leaves. Short and nimble, they seemed to be coping tolerably well, clambering under, over, and through the knotted vines. Vandham, on the other hand, was trying to shove his massive self through the same slivers of space. By the time he was halfway to the impromptu bridge he was wishing he had brought a machete.

He bullied his way through the last built-up tangle and was relieved that the command deck was clear. Not without effort, he noted as he passed two small aliens wildly clipping away at encroaching tendrils.

A yellowish Ma-non skittered to a halt in front of him. "You see? You see?"

"If you mean Jungle World, yeah, I noticed. What are you people up to, Pfeffen?"

The Ma-non groaned and shook his head so hard his ears slapped together. "We were trying an experiment to to to improve food resources for the Orphe, and things went sideways."

"So shut it down and call it good. I'm sure the Orphe will be up for extra helpings."

"We can't!" squeaked the Ma-non. "The system is drawing on itself, pulling resources without ... I can explain it at length later but it has reached a rate that we can't shut it down fast enough. I could murder that Mon'barac!" He switched to a gurgling imitation of the Ophe botanist. "_I calculate that these modifications will increase growth by by by 8.762%._ HA! Try 876.2%"

"What's a decimal place or two between friends?" agreed Vandham. "So, what do you need BLADE for?"

"We need to get rid of this, obviously!"

"Like I said, feed it to the Orphe."

"No! Do you realize the increase to to to their population that would be required to manage it? Because I have the equations and they are not pretty."

Vandham sucked in an uneasy breath. "8.762% doesn't cover it, I'm guessing."

"Much more. Then we'll have the problem of housing and organizing and employing so so so many guests and ..." It was too much for Pfeffen. "OOOOOOOOOOO! I am not happy about this. I'm supposed to be tuning my engines, not stranded on this backwater planet, organizing landscapers. Just LOOK at my darling ship!"

"At least you still have a ship," Vandham couldn't prevent himself from grumbling.

Pfeffen was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry for you loss. She died a noble death, okay?"

Vandham regretted his display of weakness. "Never mind. Your current problem is what we need to worry about. I can send a team or two to start clear-cutting for you." He swatted a vine that was tickling his ear. "Make that a division."

"That would be fantastic. We can't stop the growth until we've reduced the mass. Could we dump it in in in the gel moat maybe?"

"Not sure about that. I don't want a hydroponic jungle under the city. Dump it outside the city?"

"And seed Mira with it?" squealed Pfeffen with horror.

"Big no, then. I can dedicate the city's incinerators for you."

Even as Pfeffen nodded, he looked dissatisfied. "I hate having all this mess, but I hate to to to to waste it, okay? Plus the Orphe seemed so pleased about it, you understand?"

"Tell them it's an all you can eat special until we clear it out. If I send every Interceptor I can find, we'll be done by tomorrow and their numbers can't have grown too big. And maybe they'll have bad enough stomachaches that they won't be too sad to see it gone."

* * *

**a/n: City planning problems in spaaaaaace.**

**Next up: Legend. Why do I hear Koji Kondo music in my head? I'm not complaining, mind you.**


	15. 15 Legend

**Inktober 2019 15 Legend**

**a/n: Tatsu's turn to tell a spooky story, and buckle up, kids, because I'm writing in Noponese.**

**Creepiness and not as cute as we've been led to expect from Nopon.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

"Okay, Tatsu, it's your turn to tell a ghost story," Lin ordered her friend.

"Mehhh," he bleated reluctantly. "Nopon not have ghost story. Dead is dead."

"You look pretty freaked out for someone who doesn't believe in ghosts." She made a sudden grab for him. "BOO!"

"MEH MEH!"

"Aw, leave the little guy alone," rumbled Doug. Their team was having a rare break from missions, doing the most cornball thing: a beach bonfire with spooky stories. They'd raided the snacks from their combined emergency rations, settled in comfortably around the fire and started swapping ghost stories. Doug had told one as old as the hills, complete with bloody hook dangling from the latch of a skell's pilot capsule. Elma's story was literally more ethereal, full of radio whispers that could never have been sent by the unfortunate victims. Lin had gone for the standard walking coffin number with extra blood.

"I can go next," offered Irina.

"It's not fair for Tatsu to pig out and then not do his part," Lin whined.

"Meh, meh." Tatsu had wrapped his wide wing-arms around his belly and his eyes blinked closed behind the thick lenses of his glasses. "Nopon not go ghostly, but have legends for dark nights."

"Now we're talking. Lay it on us, Tatsu!"

"Most powerful is Legend of Hunger Caravan," he began.

"Hungry," corrected Lin.

His eyes winked open and drilled into her. "Hunger. Tatsu know story from littlepon."

"Trust a Nopon to tell scary stories about not having enough to eat," joked Doug.

"You're lucky he's not telling one about empty wallets," Irina laughed back.

"Yikes!" Doug smiled. "I'd never sleep again."

"Ahem! If friends listen like good littlepon...

_"Before mamapon's mamapon was littlepon, there young Nopon child. Not littlepon but not merchant yet. He very round and fluffy but very spoiled. He eat only softest and sweetest foods, never sticky or icky. Every meal he leave so much this bit and that bit but never share, only throw like garbage._

_"This very bad, because hungry pests follow his caravan. One night he leave so much food behind that hungry pests come and eat whole caravan too."_

"We get it. Moral of the story: clean your plate. Okay, next!"

"Not done yet." He pulled his wing-arms tighter and continued. "_Young Nopon left orphan because he run very fast. Faster than whole family so only Sonnypon escape. He follow trail deeper into land that goes on and on, hoping to find new caravan with better meals. After long night walking he hear creaking and clicking ahead. It sound of harnesses of nopopotomus and soon sonnypon see small caravan._

_"New caravan very small, only two nopopotomus and two Nopon. One beast carry big box tied to back, and ropes creak every step. Other carry Nopon, but they no speak. Sonnypon beg them to take him with. They not say yes, they not say no, only wave small wave to tell him climb and join. Sonnypon not see faces, because wearing big hat and big mask. No speaking, only sit with wingarms close._

_"Night still not over though. They ride and ride until Great Mamapon Moon tuck daughters into bed, and it grow darker still. Sonnypon glad when they stop, on a beach like this, and build fire._

_"Sonnypon hop around, showing how helpful he is, bringing wood for fire and water for pot. Strange Nopon very lazy, not take off hat, not take off mask, not flap wing-arm either. They use only littlest arms to pull small twig or carry drip of water."_ Tatsu demonstrated with his stunted lesser appendages, then tucked those back under his broad wing-arms, still wrapped around his belly. _"Always keep wing-arms folded, like very cold or thinking very hard._

_"They build fire very large but that make darkness all around only darker. Sonnypon ask about dinner over and over but strange Nopon not start cooking. Sonnypon tired of waiting. He decide to look for food himself. He start by checking chest they transport. He tug at ropes on big chest to get out food, but ropes creak and chest clicks and beast groans so loud that Sonnypon is scared. Strange Nopon rush at him, and Sonnypon fight them with handy stick. He hit not too hard but not soft either. Masks fly off and strange Nopon start wailing. Sonnypon see by light of fire what he not see before._

_"Nopon caravan have no eyes. Gone. Eaten, only empty sockets. Nopon caravan have no tongues either, they can only wail, not even meh meh. Tongues eaten too. When they twirl and search for lost masks, Sonnypon see no wing-arms, all bitten away. Only empty clothes. Then he knew this Hunger Caravan." _

Tatsu stopped then, clapping his wing-arms and stretching them with a little shake. Lin waited for an eternity and then said, "That's it? What next?"

"Nothing. Caravan keep moving after rest."

"They ate him, didn't they? I hope they stewed him."

"No," said Tatsu. "Of course, all littlepon know the ending, but Tatsu explain carefully for friends. Hunger Caravan travel forever in Land that Go On and On, but always at night, because sun never rise in sky. And no food ever. Sonnypon grows hungry and start to nibble on own self. First one eye, and tongue because no talking. Then tuft, then other eye. Then wing-arms. When all done, he wear mask and hat and floppy cloak like the rest of the caravan, all members of it."

"You said there were only two."

"Two riding, but there many more. Big chest not empty. It filled with many Nopon mouths, all still hungry but no body left. Many member of caravan, all click click click but no eat.

"Every Nopon know legend and all Nopon hear clicking when Hunger Caravan pass. If come close to home caravan, best to move soon, maybe as soon as light. But not while still dark because then risk joining that night."

The fire popped and Lin jumped. Tatsu beamed at his friends. "See? Nopon never become ghost. If not dead, Nopon must keep living."

* * *

**a/n: Turns out, I am best at telling bedtime stories. Also, can I get an F for the pen that died in the middle of this story? Rest well, brave writing utensil that I got for free from a hotel.**

**Next up: Wild. No idea, which means I have just as much idea as most days.**


	16. 16 Wild (Team Trueno start)

**Inktober 2019 16 Wild**

**a/n: Fitting things that are too big.**

**I got 15 minutes so this is short.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, but Sal is mine.**

* * *

"I don't like this," the blonde Curator announced. "I'm going home. We can come another day. Better idea: let's have someone else take the job."

Sal held his sniper rifle at the ready and let the team leader argue the rebel back into place. Doug and Murdress had been yelling at each other since they left NLA and Sal wasn't going to wade into it. Not least because he was worried that if he opened his mouth, he'd agree with the Curator.

This was a bad situation and a bad mission. The White Phosphor Lake might be pretty but he could feel corrosion leaking through the seams of his armor. No amount of augments was going to keep the glowing purple from trying to burn straight to his bones. Even the sting of the mist that rose in small puffs was turning his hair wild and wiry. The noxious waters were the smallest part of his fears. The enemy ahead was dormant, but it was also as big as a mountain.

But there wasn't going to be another mission like this, not for weeks. The stretch of clear weather was phenomenally rare in Cauldros, although Sal wasn't thrilled that the blue sky and sunshine highlighted every tentacle that crowned the filiavent. They'd picked their way carefully down the slope to the base of the monstrous ... was it a plant? An animal? A god of destruction? A question for the team's Curator, now arguing percentages of rewards with Doug.

They'd spent the whole day getting here, clearing out the lesser enemies that could wipe out an average team, keeping them from attacking the team when they finally targeted the monster. The light was fading. They had to do it now, if they were to get the full data scans.

Doug evidently thought so too. "Sal, on the left. Murdress, stay close to me."

"Don't be disgusting."

"I'm not trying to flirt, idiot. Feel free to stay 10 meters away but keep your hands where I can see them. I need your buffs because I'm taking the heat."

"And me?" Frye was an Interceptor, like Sal, a friend from the Repenta. He was someone Sal owed too many favors to be able to say "no" when he'd been asked, "Hey, pal, want to go on a death mission?"

"Do as much damage to the trunk as possible. Even if Sal's as good as you say he is, he'll be busy keeping the tendrils back."

"Blunt force trauma and a rain of lead, got it." Frye winked at Sal, or maybe his grin was pulling on the scar over his eye.

Sal took as deep a breath as the poisonous miasma allowed and looked through the rifle sight. If you only looked at a snippet of the thing, the filiavent was a match for the most beautiful orchid.

By the next morning, he hated all flowers.

* * *

**a/n: Done and done. Whoops, didn't use the prompt. Lemme fix that. Sal's hair is electric blue and stubby, not quite dreads, but that's not important to the story. Yay, another OC to care for.**

**Tomorrow: Uhhh, ornament? Celica, maybe. **


	17. 17 Ornament

**Inktober2019 17 Ornament**

**a/n: Upon reviewing the situation, the team from the previous chapter realizes they made a grievous mistake. They won't do it again.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, and Sal would make a great Cross.**

* * *

"I don't know what you were thinking. I mean, honestly," whined the lone female voice on the comms.

It wasn't the first time she'd said it. Sal had started counting, then had stopped bothering at some point during the ocean crossing.

"I dunno. Maybe the specs said NO SKELLS, Sharon," growled the deepest voice.

"And you didn't challenge it. What a lunkhead."

"Didn't hear you saying boo."

"I was there for one thing: opening the gate and getting the data. Not clearing the field. That's on you. If you had just admitted you couldn't do your job, then..."

She continued with her criticism, mixed with her honey-sweet giggles, but Sal went back to ignoring them, deciding instead that it was as good a time as any to check his instruments. The flicker of purple below them indicated that they were getting close.

"I'm just glad that the brass sprung for these rides. Nice. Cushy seats, cup holder. My beer fits just fine." Sal could hear the grin over the radio.

"Jesus, Frye, do not tell me..."

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Doug. I won't crack it open until the ride home." There was a pause. "Them open." Frye's laugh filled Sal's capsule.

They landed in a tight group on a hillock across from their disastrous first attempt. It had been a month ago. They'd done everything short of throwing rocks to get the thing to lift off the ground, with no response. Frye had triggered it by accident. He'd spattered shots at an errant murra that had fluttered down from a ledge, probably the only living thing they hadn't cleared out on their way there. A bullet had nicked the trunk of the filiavent and up Trueno had risen, twenty, thirty meters? Or was it a hundred? Sal was bad at estimations. It could have been a zillion meters and it would have been too close for him.

He'd stared up into the twirling, shining tube that pulsed inside the grey trunk, fringed with slick round lobes, and his mind had gone blank even as he aimed and fired, aimed and fired. The creature had spun, making him dizzy. Maybe it had hypnotized him somehow. He hadn't been able to answer a lot of the debriefing questions. Had Murdress headed for the Ganglion transport console as instructed? No idea. Had Doug managed to follow her? No idea. How long had Frye been able to keep the target's focus? No idea. How many shots had he, Sal, gotten off? He could answer that, but only because he knew he'd shot steadily and regularly and had done the math afterwards, seconds minus reload time multiplied by magazine. Which one of the four had fallen first? No idea.

Fallen wasn't the right word for it. It wasn't the skell-sized bubbles of crackling lavender electricity that had knocked them down, or the push back when the thing had dipped for the ground. It wasn't the unspeakable cloud of unclean energy that had rained down on them. No, he had managed to keep his eyes open and his gun aimed at its core until the thing had inhaled, swelling and lifting and sucking all of them up into the sky, like a tornado clearing out a trailer park. He didn't remember hitting the inner walls of the tyrant, although Frye claimed they'd all looked like lottery ping-pong balls. He'd woken up, a medic crouched over him, splayed against the rocks on the the _outside_ of the canyon. The thing had spat them up and out of the entire area. God bless the newest gear that had made sure all their innards landed in the same location.

Now they were back, all dolled up and ready to hit it for reals. They hadn't wanted to kill it last time. Well, wanted, sure, but they hadn't expected to manage that. They had only wanted to give their Curator pal a chance to monitor the transport device hidden inside the monster, maybe to step through with Doug at her heels, maybe only get data. No skells, because they didn't want to ding the mechanism.

It was stupid in hindsight. Anything that survived being wrapped by a monster on the order of BLADE tower would have survived a skell attack, especially since the filiavent would take the brunt of the destruction.

Sal snapped to attention. Doug had started a review of instructions. "So, crew, we're..."

Murderess cut in. "Blah blah, I memorized all that a week ago. New thing: one of you needs to snag me one of the pink pseudo-stamens. The ones in the very crown, not the larger orange ones, do you hear me?"

"What you want it for?" brayed Frye. "A flag pole?"

"I just need the very tip for materials. You can have the rest for a lamp post to hug later."

"We aren't here to help you buff your gear, Sharon," Doug growled.

"Oh, I'm crafting a novel item. A hair ornament that will make me the talk of NLA."

* * *

**a/n: Yes, for research, I went after Trueno on foot. I was lucky to survive 6 seconds. Sometimes less. I could tune Doug to manage it but I have other things to do (like playing Little Town Hero, I weep at my life choices sometimes).**

**Next up: I will cheese the prompt, whatever it is, because Murderess needs that material, so we're sticking with Team Trueno-Be-Gone.**


	18. 18 Misfit

**Intober 2019 18 Misfit**

**a/n: Team Trueno-Be-Gone gets it on. Do they get it done? Do I get it done? Because I only have 15 minutes...**

**Feel free to add real swears.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, but Sal is mine.**

* * *

Sal couldn't believe how different today's battle was. All the parts were the same, except for the skells. Once again, the hardest part had been triggering the massive tyrant, but just as before Frye had sent an errant bullet that had woken the sleeping behemoth. The thing had risen in to the sky, and even riding in the comfort of a thousand kilo mechanized skeleton didn't change the overwhelming panic that flooded Sal's brain. The same globes of deadly electricity drifted lazily toward them. Then there was a back-to-back push and inward draft of hurricane force wind. The skell was blasted, launched, and staggered until Sal's teeth rattled in his skull.

The skell's systems recovered but Sal was left unable to focus his eyes correctly. Still, he'd started to note the differences. The last trip had ended by then, and this time they were still fighting. His ride had a full complement of guns and melee weapons, and being able to fly up high protected him from a second round of suck and blast and die. He swung at one of the fat petal-like fringes and felt the sword sink deep.

He was spewing profanities in a second, because the sword had gone too deep and was now stuck fast in the juicy flesh. His thrusters weren't strong enough to get him free. The tyrant was sinking toward the ground now, and he flapped along downward. God help him if it started to spin. He'd land in Oblivia by the time the sword broke loose. Unless it was the skell arm that broke loose, then he might land in Sylvalum.

"Little fricking help?!" Each blast that targeted him was reducing the skell's defenses. Lights across his dash were flashing red, quietly, because the skell designers knew there was no point having horns that blared your doom. If a skell was taking damage so fast that the pilot couldn't notice the levels visually, no klaxon was going to help.

Doug's voice was distracted. "Hang on, kid. Frye, got a heal? An aura? Something?

"Got a patch-up on the way. How you like it, Sal?"

Sal's levels didn't rise out of the red, but the well-timed joint shield gave him the chance to eject the sword. Being down a weapon sucked but better than being spun into the afterlife. "I'm sorry, I'm not doing ..."

"Don't quit, fool. Keep shooting, and wait for it. Waiiiit for it..."

Sal didn't get what he was waiting for, but he rattled off a few more shots. It was going better, this fight, but it wasn't going well. Frye's ride was almost as dinged as his, maybe more, since he was getting Frye's levels with a delay. They were going to need to pull back. If they managed to drag their dolls back to the city of misfit toys, maybe they could still get jobs as Reclaimers. Maybe.

"Aw yeah," Frye cackled over the link. "Here we go." Sal stole a glance at Frye's Verus and still didn't get the point.

"Now it ends." Doug's voice was heavy and fierce and Sal took a deep breath. He couldn't see the other fighter, but he knew that Doug's skell would be shimmering, hard to focus on because overdrive made all movements a little faster than mim eyes could track. He wasn't sure how that would affect Trueno, their eyeless and formidable enemy.

One single blast, one hit, and Trueno flailed upwards, petitioning whatever gave tyrants their insane strength, then toppled like a redwood, its tentacles bouncing on the beach and sending a celebration of toxic spray into the air.

The battle was over. That one, anyway.

* * *

**a/n: I do what I want, okay? Cheesy cheesed the prompt. ******Ejecting weapons, that's DxM, not XCX. ******POP/STARS is LoL and on loop. Aaaaand: ****I am so far from actually writing things with a pen anymore that I should rename this thing "Nopetober". And you know what? I am at peace with all of this.**

**Next up: Prompt? What prompt? 3.0, because I am not done with this team. Where, you may ask, was Murderess? I have dialogue to write, squee! Followed by more fight scenes.  
**


	19. 19 Sling

**Inktober 2019 19 Sling**

**a/n: The team examines the remains of Trueno but the story does not advance because Murderess wants that thing she mentioned in Inktober 17.**

**Also because I was short on time AND hurt my hand.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft. May they never get joint pain.**

* * *

The skells lumbered around the mass of debris, their pilots unable to believe the battle was over. Which it wasn't, since Frye was still pumping a few more rounds into a floating lava fish that had gotten curious. But finally the lophid had also fallen and the area was quiet.

Doug was first to disembark, jumping to the ground with graceless haste. He seemed in a hurry to put some distance between himself and the person with whom he had been sharing the ride. Murderess poked her head out, stretching her arms lazily, but she made no move to step down. Sal and Frye joined Doug, and the three of them stared up at Murderess.

"Ready to get going?" Doug asked with studied politeness.

Murderess graced them with her brittle laugh. "Not until I have my material."

Sal's eyes dodged between her and Doug and he prayed that there wasn't going to be a homicide. Doug's jaw was clenched, but he still sounded reasonably calm. "Do you want me to sling you over my shoulder and carry you to the job you were hired to do?"

"Do you want to wake up dead before payday?" she replied, fluttering her eyelashes.

Frye snorted without hostility and marched across the torn-up salt flat to the head of the fallen tyrant. He started to climb up over the flaccid triangular lobes that had fringed the top of the monster, shoving a heavier slab of plant flesh to the side with his shoulder. Sal knew he should go help his teammate. Then he watched as Frye slipped and almost toppled under a massive frond that moved as if it were still alive. Sal shuddered deep in his soul and stayed planted.

Frye didn't need Sal for moral support. He was back before Doug and Murderess had finished their next argument. [_Topic: Is it fair of the ECP to refuse to loan a BLADE a skell just because the previous loan was returned stripped of a few non-essential parts? Even if that leaves a current team with only three skells and requires people to share a pilot capsule? Discuss._] Frye stood just below the skell. He held the knobby coral pink pseudo-stamen lightly, balanced across his open palms. The long filament bowed slightly as he bounced it. He could have been about to use offensive stance.

"That's what I like," Murderess purred. "Thank you."

She stretched her hand down towards Frye, clearly expecting him to reach up and present it to her. Frye smiled and angled it back behind his shoulder instead. "Nope. Not until you come out of the skell, sweetheart." He ignored Murderess' furious hiss and grinned at Sal. "I learned a thing or two from coaxing my brother out of comfy hiding spots," he said in a stage whisper.

* * *

**A/n: My thumb is feeling better, but stories will be even shorter for a bit.**

**Next up: Continued prompt cheesing, as Murderess takes her own sweet time getting ready to advance the plot.**


	20. 20 Trail

**Inktober 2019 20 Trail**

**a/n: Will Murderess & Co. ever do anything interesting? Not yet, she's busy.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Murderess climbed out of the skell, landing as neatly as a cat on the dead stubble. Every movement radiated peevish displeasure. Frye quickly handed her the plant material, obviously not wanting to irritate her more than necessary.

"We good here? Can we finish this job?" rumbled Doug.

"Oh no, we are NOT good," snapped Murderess. She whipped out a utility knife and Sal took some hurried steps back. It wasn't even a conscious act; at the first glint of metal, he'd jumped away. Doug hadn't, but his hand might have moved a touch closer to his sword hilt. Murderess took no notice of the unease surrounding her. She began to whittle at the knob at the top of the pseudo-stamen. Sal blushed and hoped no one had noticed his panic, but a violet glare that swept over him and then dismissed him suggested he wasn't so lucky.

Doug shook himself and threw his hands up into the air. "Really? You gotta do this now?"

"You all can wait. In fact, you all WILL wait, because you need me more than I will ever need you." Chunks of tyrant flesh flew in an arc away from her. When Sal picked up a splinter, it felt damp and more spongy than woody. Maybe like a yam? Or death carrot? His fingers started to tingle unpleasantly and he dropped it quickly.

"Hey, don't touch anything for a sec," Frye said. "Especially not your face. Do not pick your nose or anything." Sal had to fight an immediate and obvious urge. Frye handed him an anti-toxin cleansing wipe a moment later and the urge passed.

"Ah ha!" Sal looked back at Murderess. She'd dropped the stalk to the ground carelessly, and was now holding a palm-sized lump, pale pink and roughly spherical. It was iridescent, like a irregular pearl, but Sal could see faint lines criss-crossing the top of it. Murderess traced one groove gently. Sal realized it was more like a tightly closed bud.

"This, peasants, is why I agreed to participate in this otherwise underwhelming mission." Murderess fumbled in one of her pockets, pulled out a sort of clip and in a moment had attached the pearl bud to the side of her head. "This is cutting edge, and I wanted to be the very first to have one for myself."

"A hair clip," Doug said dully.

"Wrothians talk about it, the hissies too, but none of them have one. I couldn't get it through normal suppliers, not even L. I wanted it, and I got it."

"A hair clip?!" Doug was recovering from his stunned state.

"You can waste our time discussing fashion or we can all get this over with," she sneered. She picked her way across the clearing, moving toward the alien technology that Trueno's demise had revealed. The other three avoided eye-contact as they followed in her trail.

* * *

**a/n: Prompt, what prompt? Oh THAT prompt. ****Hissies == Zaruboggans.  
**

**Things will probably stay short for a bit because hand owies.**

**Next up: I swear we will have plot. Or at least more dialogue. Treasure ... oh that is so easy I could scream ...**


	21. 21 Treasure

**Inktober 2019 21 Treasure**

**a/n: No action but Team Trueno has at least found buttons to push.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Their target, the purpose for all this fighting and blasting (and being blasted, Sal hadn't forgotten that) was a round flat pad and the bank of controls that ringed it. Murderess was doing what looked to Sal like a cursory job of scanning the tech.

Frye nosed over and poked a button.

"Knock it off, dude," Sal said nervously.

"Oh, he couldn't make anything happen if he fell down dead drunk over the thing," Murderess said.

Sal wished he had kept his mouth shut, but Frye perked up. "So if I did this..." and here he swept his hand across the console, "...you're saying it's no big deal, right?" The arcane displays shifted intensity and colors, but otherwise the area remained quiet.

"Frye, stop being a goof, and let the lady get on with her job," Doug ordered.

"I couldn't give a rat's ass what he does," said Murderess, moving along the displays. "It's just as I suspected. Same old boring Ganglion set-up and just as useless to us as if it were still buried deep under tons of that poison mushroom." Her fingers danced along the trail left by Frye's mischief. Sal held his breath. The panel lights blinked slower and grew dim. Nothing else happened. Sal was disappointed.

Frye was still feeling playful. "Hey, Murderess. Why'd they send you with us? Doug forget to pay the exterminator fee?"

"Ha, ha. No one sent me here, fool. I chose this mission, like I choose most things in my life."

"I mean, why a Curator? I thought you guys like collecting critters and that kind of crap. Like you're filling the Natural History Museum of Mira or something. You're not interested in how the mechanics work. That's more Outfitter work."

Murderess stretched herself onto her toes to run her comm device over the upper edges of the bank of buttons. "Outfitters are okay if you want something taken apart with a hammer. They're simply perfect if you don't mind having to glue it back together afterwards, provided you aren't too picky about it looking like the original." She studied the device, then ran it along the same area again. "I'm not saying it isn't _interesting_ in the end, but sometimes you want to know what you had at the start." She checked the device again and gave a satisfied nod. She turned to look at Frye. "People like you think Curators are all about flower pressing and lizards in jars. You don't see the big picture. We study systems. Maybe natural ones, if that floats your boat, but also the ones designed by societies. And for this job? Somebody was smart enough that we're the closest things to anthropologists we've got."

Sal wondered if there was a special word for anthropology but for alien enemies.

Doug wasn't interested in the finer points of division specialization. "What's the ETA of us being done here?"

"I'm already there, Douglas. I know, must be a shocker for a partner to say that to you, hmmm?" Her giggle was rank.

"That's it? You were kinda fast."

Murderess glared at him. "I got what the ECP paid for. Other nerds can take all the time they want, decrypting and rendering and god knows what. I've scanned it all and I know it was clear. Goodness, I could probably fire it up for you."

Frye reached out to poke another button, only to have Murderess slap his hand away. "So what's it do? It's communication or targeting or what?"

"Oh Frye. Frye, Frye, Frye. Your brother really did get all the brains." Her disdain was increasing exponentially. "Use your eyes. This is the same exact design as the transportation pad the Ganglion have overlooking the eastern lava pools."

"Transportation? To where?" Sal couldn't help but glance nervously up at the rim of the canyon.

"What do you care? You aren't suggesting you're going to go exploring, are you?"

"Could we?" interrupted Doug.

"Of course. I can send us to ... wherever. Ganglion controlled, naturally. Probably someplace special. They've taken a lot of trouble to hide the door." She flicked a stylishly manicured nail at the remains of Trueno, rapidly decomposing into a hazmat site.

"If we went through, poked around..." Doug was scratching his sideburns thoughtfully. "If we did that, it could go a long way towards making folks forget how badly we screwed up last time."

"You are so limited," sneered Murderess. "Who cares about brownie points with the brass? Anything the Ganglion is trying to hide this hard has got to be worth a bundle."

"And who cares about either of those things? This baby is a straight shot to the heart of Ganglion Smack-Down City. Count me in." Frye fidgeted with his Gatling gun in a way that was far from restrained. "My buddy Sal feels the same way, right?"

Teams never went beyond their orders without unanimous agreement. Sal could have listened to his gut and said "no", and they would have gone home to NLA having completed the mission as originally described. But how could the hope of someday dying peacefully in his bed compete against the promise of glory, treasure, and vengeance (or at least enthusiastic chaos)?

"I'm in."

* * *

**a/n: Sal is young, but he was in the Earth Defense Force, saw some action back there. I could go on about how he owes Frye big time for things, but do you really want to hear me go on and on about the Whale, the crash, and how people like Sal had gotten used to sirens for emergency drills?**

**Other nerds, please please please continue with the rendering and relentless detailing of all the Miran goodness. And thank you.**

**Next up: Ghost. Team Trueno continues, and I have an idea...  
**


	22. 22 Ghost

**Inktober 2019 22 Ghost**

**a/n: Sal had a past and a future, and then he didn't. Now he does again. Team Trueno, cont.**

**Too much unsupported head canon about the ECP and the Whale. Angst. Long and under-edited.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Sal might have been the youngest of the team, but that didn't mean he was some raw recruit. He'd joined the Earth Defense Force straight out of high school, not like those kids with an eye for an easy way to pay for dental school, but because he wanted to shake things up in a good way. It had been a narrow squeak, with the shambles that was his school transcript and grades that had too many holes. It wasn't his fault his family had been pushed all over, squeezed out of their home in good times or left with nothing but taking a chance at a new state when those good times dried up. But he'd stuck it out, surfing couches that last spring so he'd get a diploma, a real one, not a consolation prize certificate.

He'd thought he'd done pretty good at the start, really moving fast, or maybe it was because it hadn't been the smartest time to join up. Things were hot in a few places. Either way, he'd slid through training, looking much better than you'd have guessed. He'd been thrown into it before his friends had wrapped up their summer jobs flipping burgers at the amusement park. The fire he'd landed in first was Panama. The canal zone might have been ancient, but it was still doing the job. Still necessary. He'd learned a weird mouthful of Spanish, kept on the good side of the kids near the base, made them laugh a couple times. Then his squad had rolled into a firefight that lasted three straight days, and rolled out of it. He'd slept for 24 hours and woken up in time for about the same thing, except right on top of the base. He hadn't quite understood the stakes then, and later on there was no reason to read up on it. The zone was gone, as well as Panama and the EDF and the thing "E" stood for. But that was later anyway.

By the end of his 12 month rotation, things had calmed themselves and Sal was feeling pretty proud of the job, even if he had grown as nervous as a cat at a dogfight. Then they'd pulled him without break to a quieter deployment, minding an airbase off the eastern coast of Africa. Nothing flew in or out for days. Nothing to see but a narrow strait on one side and a hill with an ugly town half way up. The locals here kept well away. They had good reason. Turned out the economy depended on the best organized pirate fleet in modern history. Nothing was getting close to the coast from the bulge of the continent up and around the armpit of the Middle East. You couldn't reliably make certain harbors of in India. That airbase had never mattered. What was useful was to have these trained troops ready to board anything that floated and land on any island that housed a solar panel and a satellite dish. Sal was very busy for another year, and he worked hard to put a stop to all that nonsense.

When he'd been reassigned back to the states, he was thrilled. He'd have a chance to train in a specialization, although he really didn't have the head for studying. Mostly he wanted to catch up with his family, still chasing their chances along every highway. First he'd get settled, then he'd follow up on things. It wasn't like the army base, surrounded by high desert, was under much threat from twisted Joshua trees or railroad tracks that baked in the noon sun. There were plenty of spikes and heat, sure, but nothing lethal.

He'd have managed it too, but there was a pretty heavy rotation guarding a local solar battery installation separated from the freeway by alkaline hills and more Joshua trees. Some conspiracy theorists had whipped up a wild story about the place, and kooks from Los Angeles and worse from Las Vegas would regularly make a pilgrimage out to protest at the fences and harass the workers at the gates. He and his buddies had kept them clear, with a regular "move along, sir" and "nothing to see, ma'am". There really wasn't anything to see, although when he looked at the valley of blinking mirrors he got a weird feeling in his stomach. As the new guy, he didn't get much leave, but he had plans for carving out a free week when things cooled down.

He wasn't on duty the night that armed protestors breached the fences, but he was there the next morning, helping lay down miles of wire in increasing circles around the power plant. Not just wire, though, and that was his first clue about his future. The ammunition they were given was live, meant for stopping targets with professional armor, and some of the pressure monitors they were burying in the empty zone could do more than measure footsteps.

Sal hadn't called home, not wanting to worry his mom.

The day it all ended, Sal still didn't understand what it meant. The ground had shuddered and buckled, flicking rocks and wire and Sal into the air. As he crawled on the ground, and as the ground crawled around him, he could only think that this was the big one, the earthquake that would split California straight up the middle, north to south. The mirrors that filled the valley swung around and flashed like a disco, rippling outward. Then they fell away into a cavern that was opening beneath them. A white tower raised up from the depths of the earth. Sal couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. The fact that the ground was still slamming into his head wasn't helping. Then there had been a flash to the west. He'd managed to get to his knees and was turning to check out what he later guessed was the blast that had erased Old Los Angeles when he blacked out.

Sal was very clear on one thing. He'd never agreed to it. He'd taken the physicals and held still for the scans, but he'd never agreed to it. He wasn't sure how many other EDF grunts were like him, or if he'd been a rare accident, someone they'd overlooked. At least, he claimed he'd never agreed. Could someone be so stupid that he'd missed the explanation about becoming a robot and being launched into space? Not that he could give you the reason why he was there. All he could tell you was that he came to on the Whale, sirens screaming, and that he'd mindlessly followed commands for months until it had sunk in.

When he'd finally understood, when he'd finally started to believe it, he'd promptly given up. Ditched duty hours, ignored drills, left tasks undone. Other former EDF guys had covered for him, and an officer who'd know him in Panama, a motherly type with a sniper's eye, got him assignments where it didn't matter if he showed or not. The ship's crew had kept a tight hold on alcohol and other things, but it wasn't hard to buy stuff, steal stuff, make it or beg for it. Sal had done just enough to keep from being shut down and otherwise he drifted away. He'd found a few hidey-holes and stuck to them. It might have been weird, but it was easiest to hide in the fake city that hung on the belly of the ship like a baby bump. He guessed bums in alleys lent authenticity to the settings. The pampered passengers wouldn't have felt as comfortable if there hadn't been someone they could step around without even seeing.

When the klaxons started wailing, he'd ignored it and kept on drinking. One more scramble to ignore was nothing new. Then a ghost from his past had crashed into the center of the road. They hadn't know the name of their attackers from two years prior, but even Sal's studied numbness hadn't kept him from seeing footage.

In a good story, a redemption story, Sal would have picked up a weapon and found his destiny. He would have proved his worth. Maybe he had. He'd certainly staggered up from his normal crouch and grabbed the edge of the dumpster for support. He remembered holding the greasy metal and watching the ghost fighter aim for him. He remembered a heavy human form tackling him and mashing his face into the asphalt seconds before an energy beam split the air above them.

Frye had complimented him later, bragging to everyone how well Sal had fought. Frye had repeated this story every time Sal floundered. Sal hadn't always been able to get out of his bunk without help, but if he did manage to get to the Division Alley, Frye tended to show up, repeating the same nonsense about how good Sal did during the crash, all the while pouring black coffee down his throat and shooting black-market anti-hangover augments into Sal's system.

Eventually Sal had gotten tired of it before Frye had. Sal had pulled himself together enough to do a credible job during the Attack on New LA, thank god. There were still a lot of people in BLADE that didn't think much of Sal, and Frye was still loudly vouching for his best bud (one of many many best buds; Frye floated in them like an olive in vodka), but Sal was pretty indistinguishable from your average Interceptor now.

Except for his debts. He was paying them off with no end in sight.

Sal cleared his throat and repeated, "I'm in."

* * *

**a/n: 1) I very distinctly heard someone say, "Why yes, Null, I'd love to hear more unsupportable head-canon." 2) Sal better not let Neesae hear him be all snobby about a high school diplomas vs GEDs. She won't take that kind of lip from a wash-out. 3) ******Please replace "floundered" with a swear. 4) ******Gino was there when the armed protestors breached the fences, see "From Bad to Worse".**

**Next up: Ancient. More cheese as the button finally, FINALLY, gets pushed.**


	23. 23 Ancient

**Inktober 2019 23 Dizzy**

**a/n: Bit by bit, the team moves forward. A small step, one giant leap, and all that.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Sal hadn't felt a thing when Murderess pressed the final button. A slender fence of light had sliced the air before the world changed. It happened faster than pulling back the curtain and stepping into the shower.

"Where are we?" he yelped. Part of his brain reminded his fingers to back away from the trigger of his rifle. He needed to control his jumpy nerves, and fast. Already his eyes felt tight from imaginary sweat.

They were standing on a pad in the center of a round balcony. The pad looked the same as the one below but without the half arch that had risen above that one. The area was covered by a low overhang that curved inward at the edge and by a waist-high wall that was similarly curved upward. Between the two barriers all Sal could make out was a wedge of sky. The place was deserted, no one and nothing but the pad and the team and the bronze floor. Gone were the toxic vapors they'd been ignoring a second before. Everything smelled like clean metal, like bullets fresh from the box, but with a hint of ocean water. The fresh air did nothing to relieve the tightness in Sal's throat.

Frye stepped over to the wall. Sal was ready to grab him and pull him back, but the other man showed no signs of clowning. "Still in Cauldros," he said. "About two hexes west of where we beamed up, maybe one. The Phospor Lake is that way." He pointed outward.

Sal edged over and took a look. Lucky thing that heights didn't bother him, because Frye had failed to mention that they were also standing high over Cauldros. Higher than the canyon, higher than skells typically flew (if only to avoid the flocks of mechanical drone enemies). He looked across the vista, past the rocky shelves of the Ancient Warscape region and across the glowing lava lake. If he looked to his left, he could make out Mount M'gando.

Doug had no time for scenic overlooks. His head was bent over his nav device. "Looks like this is one of the abandoned mining probes."

Frye across the area the wide entryway that seemed to lead to a corridor. "Nothing moving in the hall. It's open to the air, same as here."

"Well, shoot," huffed Murderess. "Unless we want to pry up some railings for scrap metal, this was a complete waste of my time."

Doug shook his head. "One signal, intermittent, the other side of that hallway. It may be above us, which would explain why it keeps flickering."

Murderess looked at the screen and squealed. "Now that's what I want to see. Look at how that ping shines. This mission might turn out to be worthy of my attention."

"At any rate, a strong signal like that indicates a concentration of miranium, and BLADE's always curious about that." Doug showed the screen to Sal. Frye was still peering up and down the corridor.

"Screw BLADE. I get first dibs." Murderess pushed past Frye, but the ice-blond Interceptor was having none of that. He grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back so hard she almost crashed into Sal.

"You're dead too," she snarled.

"Keeping a list?" Frye said softly, his full attention returned to the corridor.

"Damn straight I keep scores," she said, more calmly.

"Frye and me, we'll take point," announced Doug. He filled the doorway next to Frye. He looked over his shoulder to assess his two teammates. Doug didn't seem thrilled by what he saw. Sal tried to relax his grip on his rifle in spite of the trembling in his fingers. But he couldn't get too relaxed, because the sniper rifle was starting to feel slick and too heavy in his hands.

Doug nodded at Murderess. "Much as I hate to have you near my back, you come next. Sal, take the rear. Shoot anything [and here Doug nodded fractionally toward Murderess again] that makes a hostile move." He turned away from them, once again scanning the hallway. "No chatter unless you see something, and even then, keep it down. Let's see if we can avoid waking anyone."

* * *

**a/n: The locations may be slightly inaccurate in this and the next bit(s) because**** I did laundry today****, instead of replaying the game. I have Murderess' quote on a coffee mug, and my tea tastes mighty fine.  
**

**Next up: Dizzy, as the kids meet the pings.**


	24. 24 Dizzy

**Inktober 2019 24 Dizzy**

**a/n: Even for an unreliable narrator, Sal probably needs some explaining.**

**Very short exercise in retcon-a-go-go.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Later, back in New LA, when Sal reviewed the body cam footage, he was at a loss for an explanation. What he saw on the jerky, grainy footage didn't match his memories. The pad wasn't in a separate room, and there hadn't been a doorway from which Frye could carefully scan the corridor. The transport zone was open to the air on all sides, planted right in the middle of the inner ring of balcony, the part that was carbon black and built from a solid mass of twisted cables and access panels. The corridor he'd remembered was the outer ring of the balcony, right against the low safety rim. The volcano in the center of the continent never showed on any of the footage, although maybe he really had seen it, if he'd ducked down and craned his neck just right.

Bits of the events matched. The open air, the unsupported drop-off straight to the ocean that left him dizzy, the walk around the ring to find the source of the ping. And then the matching stopped. On the mission he hadn't noticed that the inner wall had lattice breaks that allowed glimpses of the target moving around a central hall. He'd thought the floor of the passageway was bronze, not iron grey. He'd completely forgotten how the pad had sparkled and fluttered green even when not active.

It was difficult to watch the shaky footage. It had blurred ever time he'd swiveled, and the focus had shifted between Murderess' back as she walked ahead of him to a random far wall. And yet he couldn't argue against it. The camera had been good enough to record every stumble, once almost a fall. He'd had to drop to a knee to recover. He'd glanced back to see what his foot had caught on, but spotted nothing. The video didn't reveal anything new, just a floor (iron grey) built from metal plates, each seam smooth and tight.

In his memory, the walk had been slow, inching around an endless corner as they circled the ringed balcony. Sal had almost missed the entrance to the central atrium. On the video, the curve was tight and short, less than a walk around the park of NLA. The entrance into the center chamber was obvious, a broad pathway that bridged the lower inner balcony, with its red lights blinking in a black industrial moat.

Memory and recording converged at that point. The team had paused just outside the circular chamber. The room had been easily three times taller the cramped balcony, covered by an arching dome with jet patterns traced on an ebony ceiling. There had been only one enemy, a Definian clone, and her back was turned to them.

He could sense the dismissive contempt from Murderess and the wild eagerness of Frye. Doug's response was the only one that was measured, increasingly cautious. Sal wasn't surprised that Doug of all people was suspicious of a good thing. Murderess might think the enemy was too complacent and stupid, Frye might be gung-ho for a fast fight, but from what Sal had heard, Doug knew that things that looked easy were not to be trusted.

Back in NLA, when the officials asked Sal what his own emotions had been, he'd lied and said he'd been nervous. He didn't mention the wrenching feeling in his stomach and the tightness in his chest. In this the camera couldn't prove him wrong.

* * *

**a/n: Went back and played the area in XCX and man the design on this game is STUNNING. If you go to the area, look at the ceiling, so detailed, mmmmmm good.**

**Scrapped my plan as a result, then scrapped my first draft, but I'm not displeased about spending more time riding on Sal's unreliable shoulder.**

**Next up: Catch. I'm pulling a later prompt, because #25 "tasty" screams Nopon and I'm still not done with Team Trueno.**


	25. 25 Catch

**Inktober 2019 25 Catch**

**a/n: Never has winning felt so lousy. ******Null writes battle scenes.  
****

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

Even before the battle had begun, Sal had messed up. Doug had given him a signal, wordless because a sniper was supposed to know his business. Sal put his sights on the Definian clone, but after that things had gone south. It should have been a no-brainer to align the cross hairs on her chest, the job made even easier by the distinctive straps that built her armor. The shot would have stunned her at the very least, maybe even toppled her long enough to let them finish the battle before she could land a blow. Instead, his aim slipped and skidded over the target's torso, so similar to a human woman's. His first shot went wild, and with the enemy alerted, he didn't have a chance for a second try.

The Definian countered immediately, jamming their skills so that attacks were landing everywhere but the target's skin. Murderess howled in fury, but what Sal heard clearest was Doug's grunt of disapproval. Sal had had one job, and he'd blown it.

For other teams, this might have been the entry to a slow slide of failure. Other teams didn't have Frye. "YAHOO!" The Blood Ostrich rushed in, laying into the clone with his clumsy sword. Skills and accuracy didn't matter much to someone who specialized in nasty and brutish.

Lurking in the doorway, Sal had avoided the jamming signal, and he took the opportunity to redeem himself. He aimed his sniper rifle again, with agonizing care. The agony was literal, because the muscles in his arms were starting to feel as jumpy as his fingers. The magnification made her look even more human, but he pushed that thought away. His eyes burned as he tried to get her fixed again. Luck, or Frye, helped him out as the two combatants locked blades for a moment. That was all Sal needed. He drew on every bit of his experience, reaching back to his earliest training, counted what used to be heartbeats, exhaled slowly, and squeezed the trigger.

It hit, slightly off, but still the shot hit. The relief of seeing the clone drop to her knees was second to his relief at being able to pull out his javelin. It didn't matter that he knew this stun would be comparatively short. A third try wasn't happening. Sal needed to switch to a weapon that didn't require precision. He pushed himself into the room, not as close to the enemy as Doug or Frye, but at least in range where he could jab her when he saw an opening. That last effort to still his tremors made his blows half-hearted, but Sal told himself he'd rally, soon as he got into the flow of battle.

Murderess was screaming now, not at her teammates as Sal had come to expect, but at the Definian. "Just surrender, idiot! Just give up!" All her words did was focus the enemy's ire, and the Definian leapt at Murderess, blasting into her. Murderess fell with a gurgle, the clone pounding her body with shocks.

Sal leaned into his javelin and flung himself across the room, drilling into the clone and pushing her off his teammate. He'd overreacted though, and when the Definian twisted to the side, Sal crashed into the casket in the center of the room. His bodycam footage later showed the storage unit to be balanced on six delicate insect-like legs. At the time, all Sal noticed was the pain in his ribs as he slammed into its flat side. He caught himself before he fell, gripping the edge of the box in one hand and leaning slightly on his weapon with the other. The clone turned to him and warbled something menacing, but Sal needed a time out, maybe to catch his breath, maybe to clear the specks from his vision, maybe to quell the terror zinging up and down his spine.

It was all so strangely familiar. Him, standing there, frozen and sick, clinging to the rim of a metal box, not quite able to look at the death in front of him. The enemy, efficient and competent and ready to strike Sal down. Sal struggled to lift his javelin but now even his shoulders refused to lend him their strength, to say nothing of his arms and hands. All was lost.

The clone shuddered then, her head twisted back as her body jerked regularly. Frye was unleashing a full magazine into her, the muzzle of his Gatling almost touching her shoulder. Sal dimly realized that this meant he'd escaped his doom one more time, or at least that kind of doom. He wasn't sure he was in the clear, not by a long shot, because things were still going very wrong.

The clone didn't fall. She floated in front of Sal, as the world curled around them. Her face, masked and helmeted, stayed level with his, even as she rattled out her death cry. Maybe that was because the floor was scooping both of them up at the same rate, although Sal did his best to disappear in a different direction. If his lungs had been cooperative, he'd probably have echoed her words. "Mom."

* * *

**a/n: Not quite sure what jamming does, but it looks cool and purple in game. I believe Murderess is the only character besides Cross to bring in an enemy alive. Not this fight, but still something to consider.  
**

**Next up: Dark, and Trueno continues. I could grab "injured" from later, so easy. Or I could save that because I have ideas about that time on the Whale when Jack and Lila got in a shouting match and... Maybe I should use it and save you all.**


	26. 26 Dark

**Inktober 2019 26 Dark**

**a/n: Time to clean up after the battle. Trueno cont.**

**Very hard swears. Angst. Cliff hanger.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

In the sudden quiet, two members of the team followed the standard protocol. Frye crouched and checked to make sure that the Definian clone really was neutralized. Doug covered him from a distance, inching toward the entryway to make sure there were no surprises coming. His frown showed he wasn't happy trying to do two things at once, but not everyone was being a good team player.

Murderess should have helped with checking the room for any other threats. Sal should have been guarding the entryway. But she did not, and he did not. Murderess stepped over Sal's motionless body to stand in front of the locking mechanism of the central casket. Sall didn't protest. She whirled away at her comm device, trying to digitally pry the treasure chest open.

"Clear?" rumbled an aggrieved Doug. Before Frye could respond, he barked at Murderess. "For god's sake, Sharon! Leave that alone until we know that..."

She didn't pause. "You think I didn't already scan it for traps? Hon-est-ly, such amateurs." Lying at her feet, Sal had no comment.

"Sal, bud, you good?" asked Frye worriedly.

Sal was not good. Sal was face down and showed no signs of perking up.

Frye scooted over the floor, not getting up from his knees, to reach Sal. He started to roll Sal over, but the downed man was floppy and it took a second try to manage it. Frye's face was crinkled with concern, only slightly eased by a quiet puff from Sal.

"What's up?" asked Doug, moving closer and finally storing his weapons.

"Well, this lock is a bit more tricky than..."

"Shut up, Sharon. I wasn't talking to you." Doug knelt beside Frye, who was now propping up Sal. Doug pulled the javelin out of Sal's hand, storing that carefully with his own gear, while Frye did his best to make Sal more comfortable. Sal's head lolled onto Frye's shoulder and his eyes flickered. Sal moved his lips weakly. Luminous purple threads could be seen under his dark skin. Frye hoisted him a fraction higher and leaned over him.

"This morning..." Sal whispered up at Frye.

"Oh shit man. I didn't think," Frye responded quietly. "And that wipe..."

"Uhhhhnnhh ... it must have ..."

"Yeah."

"What wipe?" interrupted Doug.

Frye was holding Sal in both his arms now. He pulled his teammate closer, protectively. "He got some Trueno gunk on him. I gave him an anti-toxin wipe. Maybe some was left, or maybe he got it in, uh, his eyes. Yeah, maybe that's it." He looked earnestly at Doug. "We gotta get him back to town, pronto."

"Is that all?" Doug's voice was relieved. "I got an extra augment, hang on." He flipped open a pocket.

"No, really, we better let the Mim Center take..." Frye started. Doug reached over and slapped the augment onto Sal's arm, releasing the toxin-clearing stimulus directly into his system before Frye had finished his sentence.

The effect was immediate.

Sal's breaths changed from pants to strangled wheezes, a slow tearing inhale followed by a weak hissing exhale. His round cheeks sucked in hollow with each struggle to get enough air. The purple streaks grew fiery as his skin went slick with perspiration. He kicked weakly, but otherwise all his energy was spent getting air.

"What the hell?! I said we needed to take him in!" Frye shouted.

"What's going on?"

"The wipe, Doug. I told you." Frye was clutching Sal tightly now, as if to stop the effect."He's sensitive to the regular kinds. You just filled him full of the garbage that was slow poisoning him."

"You never said ... he never should have come if he can't handle environmental damage..." Doug stammered defensively.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think to grab the right stuff for him."

Doug got up hurriedly. "Fine. Sharon, leave the dingus alone. We're heading back."

Murderess briefly looked down at the struggle at her feet. "Like hell I am," she said, staring coolly at Doug. "You three run along. I'm getting the goodies." She flicked her comm device one more time.

Sal's breathing had shifted again, no more in, no more out, only weak choking noises deep in his throat. Frye looked up at Doug. His voice cracked. "He's not going to last to NLA."

* * *

**a/n: "There's something about this planet." While I accept that statement and honor XCX for what it is, this isn't a permanent cliffhanger.  
**

**Next up: Coat. Possibly the penultimate chapter.**


	27. 27 Coat

**Inktober 2019 27 Coat**

**A/n: Let's get Sal some help, shall we? Yp, Murderess, I said "help" not...**

**Swears? Horror? The impossible?**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

"He's not going to make it." Frye looked up at Doug, hopelessly. Sal looked at things that weren't there.

"Grab him!" ordered Doug. "Murderess, move!"

"Why? Dummy there already said he's toast."

Frye pushed his shoulder down into Sal's side, rolled him up and over, and dead lifted him off the ground with a grunt. Sal's arms swung loose, and Frye grabbed one to keep him wrapped firmly across his shoulders.

"MURDERESS!" shouted Doug, already at the door and with raygun drawn. "I swear I will shoot you now rather than risk leaving you to be captured."

She didn't answer. She turned and her psycho launchers blasted once, stunning both men. She ran quickly over to them, grabbing the seat of Sal's gear and yanking back. Sal and Frye fell onto the floor into a heap. She swung a stinging slap into Doug's face that tipped him against the door frame before dropping next to the tangle of victims at her feet.

Doug struggled to regain control, and Frye was flailing, but she ignored both of them. "Never. Ever. Threaten me with your safety on." She was pulling Sal free of the other Interceptor, flipping him flat on the ground. Whatever air remained in his lungs had been scooped, hoisted, shot and flipped out of him, so he couldn't even gurgle in hopelessness. With one leg, she managed to shove Frye, still twitching, across the metal floor and free from his friend's body. She ripped the coral bud from her hair. The metal clip that she'd attached to it flew off, skittering into a corner with a dainty jingle. She rolled the round pearly pink lump back and forth across her palms.

"Doug, put your _useless_ weapon away and keep Frye out of the way." Doug didn't lower his raygun, but he didn't fire either. Frye had achieved a rough crawling position and was wobbling towards Murderess. "I mean it. I don't care, but you probably don't want to waste whatever they promised me this thing could do."

"Frye, stay back." Frye did as ordered, but from hands and knees he managed a menacing growl, toes curled into the floor to leap at Murderess in an instant.

"Good boy," Murderess smiled. The pearl whirled faster and faster in her hands, and a faint puff of violet white smoke rose curled up from it. "Here goes. I'm honestly interested to see how good this is. Just remember, if it works, you so owe me." With both hands she slammed the bud flat into the base of Sal's neck, scrambling immediately backwards.

The whisp of smoke changed to a boiling thick cloud, white and dark purple with a tint of gold in every ripple. It covered Sal's body, clinging to his chest and face, rolling over his stomach, snaking down his arms and hands, flicking onto his legs. The vapor seemed to want to stay close to him, recoiling from the floor when it touched it and curling under him instead. Through mist they could see that the bud had opened wide like a lotus. Below it extended a solid stem, fringed with familiar lobed roots that gripped Sal's skin. A tiny Trueno blossomed and swayed from Sal's throat.

"Oh my god, get that off of him!" Frye howled, but Murderess blocked him from getting closer.

"We need to let the pollen completely coat him, or at least as much as possible," she lectured.

"Oh my god, stop it!"

"Wait!" It was Doug that silenced both of them. His eyes had been locked on Sal's face from the moment the mist had started pouring out of the pink glob.

By now, the cloud had settled into a golden powder that covered the upper half of Sal's body. It jiggled, not in a living way but in the way that beads can bounce when a table is smacked. "It's moving to his system patterns," said Doug. "He's not dead. What's it doing?"

"Drawing out as much of the original poison so it can grow. Probably the anti-toxin too, and anything noxious he had with dinner last night. And when it runs out..." Murderess gave a non-committal hum.

The miniature filiavent twirled on Sal's neck, petals flexing out and in, but its movements were growing jerky. It tilted at a 45 degree angle, flicked its petals wide, then curled them painfully inward. The lobed roots gripped then released and the indigen rose into the air, free from its host. As it rose, it drew the pollen cloak up with it, but the golden grains were now rusty and dull. A second later, the filiavent fell motionless onto Sal's chest with a bounce, rolling onto the floor. The pollen rained down like a handful of dust.

Sal gasped a deep, unconstrained lungful of air, followed by a robust coughing fit.

"Yes!" Murderess said with glee. "I knew it was worth getting. Now you just need to get me a replacement."

* * *

**a/n: I used every part of the cheesed prompts. Can I say how much I enjoyed this? Because I did. Friendship ended with Frye, Murderess is new friend now.**

**Next up: I have a finished for this too, squee, because there is a little cheese left to use.**


	28. 28 Ride (Team Trueno end)

**Inktober 2019 28 Ride**

**a/n: Lordy, there are tapes. ****Team Trueno's mission concludes. **

**Swears. Fun with format.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft and also Sawano with his fabulous naming conventions.**

* * *

Selections of recordings from Mission _IN10k16to28b16.52er_, return leg, Barrett, Effinger, Christoph, Salony (passenger).

_(Barrett and BLADE tower)  
_

[recount of mission and transport, see files for details] ... If we could get clearance for Frye to land right in front of the Mim Center? Sal's sharing the ride with him. Yeah, looks like Sal's stable but we gotta get him treated ... thanks. [quieter] And if you could shake Frye a little, because he wasn't being quite straight about things with me ... no, I'm not worried ... no, it's not like that! ... But he's covering up something and [long pause] maybe his brother could get more out of him?

[mechanical disturbance] Dammit, crosswind? Sorry, my skell started shaking, it's okay now. Must have caught a tailwind just when we hit Primordia North Pointe shore. Nice, we'll get home faster. Yeah, speed's definitely increased.

[internal team comm noise] [to Effinger] No, Sharon! You do not get to go ahead on your own ... No ... I remembered what you said up there, get me? I'm lit up and targeting you. Frye knows enough to keep clear. We get home together.

[communication with BLADE tower resumes] I'll bring this baby in to the lower hangar and you guys can swarm my trunk. Nice stuff we brought back, or at least I hope so. Murderess was drooling enough over it. You should probably watch her when she lands. She's flying Sal's skell. Do not let her out until you have the payload. She's up to something.

... Oh, and we're gonna need to run the mission again. Look, I don't want to but I kinda made a promise. Maybe switch out Sal though. I don't think that guy should be anywhere near Phosphor Lake.

xcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcx

_(Effinger and unknown)_

[with ?, location triangulates to Primordia, approx FN111] And here goes. 3, 2, 1 ... bombs away. Doug's skell should be dumping its load now.

[internal team comm noise] [to Barrett] Hello, Doug? Not that it hasn't been an absolute blast, but I've got things to do. I'm gonna pop off now and ... Oh don't worry, I'll get Sal's loaner back ... And what do you expect to do about it ... Well, screw you too.

[with ?] Of all the ... you'll have to pick it up on your own ... No, I don't know how you're going to get it back, but I better not have to track you down later. I already have buyers with the Orphe for that material ... fine, WE have buyers ... I would have grabbed it earlier but Doug was like mother hen, honesty ... [laughter] oh, you can never be too prepared. I booby-trapped the lock on his trunk before we left NLA.

[transmission ends, recording continues] Don't worry, I'll get what I want.

xcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxc

_(Cristoph and Salony, pilot capsule internal recorder)_

Cristoph [C]: Man, why didn't you tell me?

Salony [S]: [weak laugh] 'Cause I didn't want you to know?

C: You could have given me a heads up. I might have remembered not to hand you that wipe.

S: I forgot. I was trying to forget.

C: How many augments you use this morning anyway?

S: Just the one. Enough to clear my head, 'cause coffee wasn't cutting it, ya know?

C: You should have called sick. I would have backed you up.

S: I couldn't let you down. I owe you, man.

C: You don't owe me crap. You're a good egg. Just, gotta watch how many augments you slug down, especially those black market ones. They creep up on you and then they stop working. And then ... it all starts to break down.

S: Sure, sure. I remember the last time I overdid it.

C: Yikes, man, that day.

S: Ugly.

C: Ugggggleeeee. You were a mess ... I thought you were cooling it.

S: I was. I am. I just was nervous, okay? Went a little too far last night, is all. I thought I could fix it without bugging anyone. ... Hey, good news. We now know how to reset the whole system, like magic.

C: Aw hell no. I am not having one of those things stuck down my throat next time a bender goes bad.

both: [gagging noises/laughter]

* * *

**a/n: Team Trueno fin. Yay, I finished a thing!**

**Next up: Injured. Indulgent Lila/Vandham/Whale incoming. Maybe. That idea is sort of long.**


	29. 29 Injured (Lila&Vandham)

**Inktober 2019 29 Injured**

**a/n: On the Whale, repairs sometimes caused injuries. Not to worry, you could always plug the fallen back into a new body. Nothing to worry about, not at all.**

**CAPITAL LETTERS BECAUSE VANDHAM ANGERY.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft. Lila Brown is mine, currently running a gas station by the West Gate of NLA.**

* * *

The recovery technicians scattered at his order. He'd promised to call them back if things went wrong. Besides, how different could this revival be compared to the previous times?

"Brown, I got a few things to discuss with you."

"Sir, please, if it could wait? I just got out of..." She touched the revival tube to steady herself.

"If you're fit for duty, you're ready to listen. Or are you telling me you need a break, because..."

He didn't need to continue because she straightened up immediately. "Sir, yes, sir," she rattled off, standing at attention. She listed a little, corrected herself, and glared respectfully back up at him.

What a wreck she was. Coveralls that puddled at her ankles, hastily slapped on her when he barged into the recovery unit, demanding to speak with her and not in an hour. Hair still dripping down her back like so many dead eels. Blinking with eyes that weren't used to being open, not even in the dim lighting of this wing of the Mim Maintenance Depot. There wasn't a wrinkle on her factory-fresh face, but he'd bet her brain was scrambling to get acquainted with the latest bottle housing it.

"If you haven't clued into what this about, Brown, I got the latest injured list today. I noticed something surprising. Your name."

"Yes, sir,' she said promptly.

"ELEVEN TIMES!" he bellowed.

"Yes, sir." She hadn't flinched, although her voice had shrunk.

"You were ordered, specifically ordered, to do the maintenance AS OUTLINED IN THE BRIEFING."

"With respect, sir, the maintenance has been done. Or ... how long was I down?" She looked frantically around, finally spotting a small digital read out on the tube she'd so recently been released from. She relaxed. "Good, I can still ... we can still manage to make the quota today if I can just get back and..." No amount was shouting was going to fix her, he realized. Dazed, disoriented, and faced with a slab of angry chief engineer, her first thoughts were still homing back to her suicidal scheme. He crossed his arms and glowered. She caught herself rambling and stopped, eyes darting nervously as the silence continued.

"What to go somewhere?" he growled with false patience. No response. "I asked you a direct question, Brown."

She hesitated, then said carefully, "Sir, yes, sir. I would like to go back on duty, sir."

"That requires going through me. Ready to listen?" Another pause. "Answer me, Brown."

"Sir, yes, sir."

"As I said, I saw a list. The past couple of weeks, I didn't pay attention. I foolishly assuumed that orders were being followed."

"Sir..."

"NOT THE TIME TO ANSWER, BROWN!" His voice returned to the stern rumble of an seemingly-understanding boss. "Numbers looked good. Shield recalibration, on time, check. Defense percentages steady, check, thank god. Casualties, lower than expected, nice."

"Fifty percent lower," she murmured, then snapped her mouth shut.

"NOT YET!" Somewhere, a tube gurgled as another shipmate was resuming life in a repaired form. He wagged a finger at her. "Only recently. It wasn't much to brag about the first week," he couldn't help but correct her. A flicker of satisfaction in her eyes was immediately swept away by his responding frown. He dropped his hands wearily. "If those shields go, we all go. We still don't have a fix, and..."

"With respect, sir, if we could shut them down area wise, we could..." she began.

His glare focused on her again and she went silent. "Your suggestion was heard and put where it belongs at the meeting. Shields stay on during the maintenance and we cope with the injuries."

"Deaths," she corrected him.

"IT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT, BROWN!" Her stubborn face made her opinion clear. The momentary relief gained from considering the mechanics of the situation evaporated. He had to work hard to avoid rage. "Your people were ordered to go into the array and make the adjustments, and keep doing it until told to stop, no matter the injuries. Injuries, NOT deaths. Because here you stand. STILL NOT DEAD."

She kept silent, doing a poor job of hiding her defiance.

"Instead," he continued, "it looks like you've been doing the job on your own. On your OWN!"

"Sir, not on my own, sir. Gino's been handling the station business, and some others have been taking shifts."

"Only when you've been taken out, or do I misunderstand something?"

She bit her lip and didn't answer.

"You make up half the list," he continued. "You must really suck at it." She flinched. He knew she wasn't careless, so there must have been something more. "Now. Now you can start talking. Explain."

Her voice was flat. "It takes more time to do it without ... incident, but it is possible to avoid the plasma flares."

"Those happen at random. You know that."

"There are indications, though. Soon as there's a suggestion of a buildup, I ... you need to duck to a safe area and wait for the discharge. That can take a 20 minute wait, maybe more if you misread the signs. That eats up the time that we use to cycle workers in and out. However, if one person keeps at it, steady, you can just manage it before you have to restart at the bottom of the array."

His face was starting to hurt from frowning so hard at her. "You're going without sleep."

She shrugged. "If you read the signs right and manage to time the discharges, the job goes faster. You can grab a nap. Or get it here."

"BEING REANIMATED IS NOT THE SAME AS A NAP."

She was silent, because there was of course no answer to that statement.

"Look, Brown, if we didn't need this done so desperately, you would have woken up already busted. As it stands, I need you to cut the crap. Send your people in to do the job AS ORDERED and spread the work. End of discussion."

"I can't let them down like that," she said clearly.

He stared at her in disbelief. "You think that's letting them down? From what I see, you've done enough to earn their trust."

"I need to do this, sir, so I can deserve their trust."

"You want to deserve their trust? Be the one to make the hard call **and send them in**." Like I've done, he thought. Like I'm doing. No response. "Brown..."

"Sir, yes, sir."

"And use your spare time to make a guide on how they can keep themselves safe. You've got the experience. We need it. This isn't the only array that's being scraped daily, and those teams are taking triple your casualties, even compared to the first week."

"Give me two hours."

"One."

"Sir, yes, sir."

* * *

**a/n: This is probably three chapters boiled into one, but it will have to do. Amazing, this is the first Lila/Vandham piece this Inktober. I am proud of my restraint. (If you're new to the Nulliverse, Lila Brown and Vandham had quite the romance in NLA coughLilyandtheBLADEcough, but on the Whale they were totally professional. Because otherwise there could have been liplock at literally any point in this story.)**

**Next up: TASTY YAYYYYYYYYY! More Nopon horror stories, possibly with Ms. Warawa.**


	30. 30 Tasty

**Inktober 2019 30 Tasty**

**a/n: More Nopon ghost stories.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft. and Ms. Warawa writes fanfiction, that is canon I'm not joking.**

* * *

"Hmpf," snorted Ms. Warawa, tossing her lovely pink tuft, "every littlepon knows _that_ story. Hardly scary at all."

Lin grinned at her friend. It was break time for the writer's group they attended. Snacks, coffee (or cocoa) and gossip. Lin had been telling about Tatsu's creepy story she had heard exactly 15 days before. "I don't know," she teased her, "it was as good a horror story as any I've heard from a Nopon."

"HMPFFF! Warawa can tell a better one. Not one that mamapon tell to keep littlepon from sucking on tips of wingarms."

"I'm game to hear it."

"Ahem." Miss Warawa arranged herself, fluttering her wingarms down to touch the ground. Lin wondered if posing was part of every Nopon ghost story. "Once upon time, there was beautiful Nopon girl. Her tuft finest and softest and most pink..."

"Of course it was pink," snorted Lin.

"Shhh. Bad audience get wingslap. Ahem, very beautiful and lovely, and all the boy Nopon loved her but she very picky in choosing hubbypon. This Nopon too stupid and that Nopon too spotty, and that Nopon both spotty and stupid."

"And had brown curly hair and thick glasses, I bet."

"SHHHHHH!" Warawa gave a moue of discontent. "You want story?"

"Yes, please."

"One day, trader visit caravan of Ladypon. He sell soup pots and soup ladles and most bestest soup Ladypon ever taste. She eat many bowl and think maybe fall in love. Trader very prosperous too. Ladypon find small pearl in bowl of soup, and decide to keep it, also to marry trader. But she not tell him about pearl. Instead, hide it in fluffy tuft because never know the future. Maybe useful.

"Trader have two tents. One very big and smooth, with best bark canvas, for Ladypon, and smaller raggedy skin tent for himself. Give only best for Ladypon, always tasty food. Sweetest berries, softest nuts. No icky, no sticky, and never bitter, never ever. Ladypon very happy traveling with good hubbypon. Except one thing: always bad dreams.

"Every night a whisper by her ear tells Ladypon to go home. Ladypon say no. And then whisper sighs and says, 'Never eat bitter, never ever.'"

Lin objected. "Tatsu said you guys didn't have ghosts."

"Who say ghost? Bad dream is normal. Ladypon soon have littlepon, as pretty as she, and hubbypon always give them only sweet berry. Littlepon soon round as Great Ring and heavy to carry. Tiny caravan move very slow. Hubbypon stop near fortress of big customers. 'Tomorrow we make big soup and sell for great profit. But my beloved mamapon must rest.'

"But Ladypon very distressed. Why? Because dinner that night very different. Not sweet, not soft, but bitter, so very bitter. She remember whisper and not eat, not give to littlepon, only pretend to nom nom nom happily. Then she sleep.

"Whisper come, but different. 'No sleep or bitter forever.' So Ladypon not sleep. She take littlepon and sneak out of tent and wait behind rock. Soon hubbypon come sneaky sneaky to tent with big knife. Ladypon decide not to learn more. She pull all ropes on tent and wrap him up tight, no get out, and she not let out, no matter how much he cry and shout. Littlepon crying because so cold, so she put her in little tent but oh horror, she see inside fluffy. Pretty yellow, pretty blue, pretty green, all pretty pretty tufts on the inside of skin tent. So Ladypon keep littlepon outside. Littlepon must lump it.

"As she waiting for dawn, she feel pearl falling out of tuft. By first light of sun, she notice that pearl not pearl. Pearl very small bone, knuckle bone from wingarm of some other pretty Nopon girl."

"Wow, gruesome! What happened then?"

"Ladypon live happily ever after, making big profit."

"But what about the husband?"

"Soup."

"Ewwwww."

* * *

**a/n: Yes, I would tell bedtime stories to my kids. **

**Next up: Ripe, although I may cheese the prompt because I have like zero time tomorrow.**


	31. 31 Ripe, or Trick-or-Skell

**Inktober 2019 31 Ripe - or the day we totally ignored the prompt**

**a/n: Costume repairs, with unexpected results.**

**All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.**

* * *

The costume was fabulous until it suddenly was not. Alexa and Lin had made a two-person skell costume, each person moving one leg and one arm. It required coordination and hanging on to each other's shoulders, and visibility was dependent on an outside camera, but it was worth it. The thing looked exactly like a scaled down Mastema. (They'd chosen a bulkier skell model so they wouldn't be absolutely squished inside.) Sure, moving the legs required a weird tandem hopping and yanking, very gymnastic, but it was so worth it. Totally worth it. They'd spent perhaps too much time on the external details, which had grown increasingly heavy. Maybe they should have used foam plastic instead of miranium. When you were swinging a leg that weighed as much as yourself, the accuracy started to feel less important. But at the time, Lin had been really excited about, right up into the small hours of October 30th. Talk about getting things done under the wire (and yes, they had used many many meters of wire to rig the whole thing).

And then ... tragedy. As they lurched smoothly down Melville Drive, under the admiring glances of all they met (or Lin assumed they were admiring, the camera didn't give the greatest view), Alexa hopped when she should have shuffled. Lin tripped over a curb, then fell into a lamp post. There was a sickening crack, and the costume split apart like a fortune cookie.

Understandably, Lin burst into tears. They'd worked on this for weeks. WEEKS! Tatsu, dressed as a pumpkin, fluttered about her, alternately patting her with an orange wing-arm and saying not helpful things like, "Meh meh not too bad" and "Meh meh Linly wear something else?" Lin was having none of it. She kicked the costume off of her body, and sat on the guilty curb, tears running down her cheeks. It didn't help that Alexa was laughing when she finally managed to squirm free.

"Honestly, I was expecting us to tip over the edge and into the gel moat," said Alexa, her eyes sparkling. "This is nothing compared to that possible disaster."

"It's ruined! I should just give up!" wailed Lin. "I should never bother with Halloween ever! I'm too big anyway!"

"Hey, hey, don't start telling me when to stop with costumes, because that's not happening. I'm bigger than you, remember." Alexa tugged at the halves of the costume, inspecting the damage. "Hmmm, frame's cracked, shell too, and the shell's come loose from the inner frame. Looks like the lighting probably went for good, you can see where the fuses just melted solid. Hey! It could be worse. We could have exploded, or maybe gone up in flames. Those safety measures don't seem so dumb now." Lin continued to weep.

Tatsu had finally done something useful. He'd wandered off shortly after Lin had swatted him away. He now returned with a hot chocolate with plenty of marshmallows. Lin slurped and sniffed, Alexa prodded and muttered, and Tatsu danced nervously around them, clearly eager to continue trick-or-treating but also unwilling to abandon his fallen friends.

"Right. We can fix this," announced Alexa.

"No, we can't. It took us hours to get the details correct."

"It won't be perfect, but we can do it. Let's get it to the Outfitter's Hangar and see what's what."

Lin apathetically followed Alexa and a crowd of burly BLADEs that had been roped into transporting the wreckage. Once they were at the hangar, she perked up. Surrounded by tools and materials, most things seemed possible. Welding the frame, with extra tubes acting as splints, went pretty smoothly. Alexa's steady chatter was also positive. "I'm glad we used interchangeable parts. We don't have time to re-do the moving flanges, but they weren't crucial, I think." But the thing that finally did it, finally made Lin's mood turn from despair to hope, was when Alexa pulled out a short thick cylinder that sparkled golden. "Ma-non duct tape," she said with deep satisfaction. "This sucker not only will stick anything together (and I do mean anything - we had some Outfitters stuck to the ceiling for a while), it matches the coloring of surfaces. Textures too, as best it can."

"So?"

"So, all the details on the shell won't be covered up by ugly grey tape. This stuff should replicate it pretty well."

The Ma-non duct tape was all that Alexa had promised, although it was tricky to use. Until they had practice not squeezing too hard, they tore several strips of skin off their fingers. Once applied, the colors were blurry, and some of the patterns were different than the original covering, but Lin had to look pretty closely to see where the repair was. In under an hour (which included another hot cocoa run by Tatsu, good boy that he was, and several small bandages for their fingers), Project Trick-or-Skell was back in business. They were very careful how they moved. As the street grew more crowded with humans and xenos celebrating Halloween, they first had Tatsu running interference, before finally yoking Doug into the job of moving people Out Of The Way.

Lin fell into a buzzing zingy candy-laced sleep, with the costume slumped in the corner, taking up the better part of the room. The next morning, it was a joy to see it sitting there. It really had been a triumph.

Then the lights flared on the miniature skell, and it rose to its feet. "Good morning, Lin Lee Koo. What are we going to to to do today?"

Ma-non duct tape: Stuff gets better than new, okay?

* * *

**a/n: Please understand. I was down with the flu for most of today. And then I had to help my kid repair their costume. I may have been inspired by that.**

**31 days, 31 stories. I really enjoyed writing Team Trueno.**


End file.
